


Echoes On The Water

by Sundayeyes



Category: Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Elemental Magic, M/M, Magical Creatures, Romance, Royalty, Tcest (TMNT), Turtlecest (TMNT), magical powers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-12
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:34:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 41,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27532348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sundayeyes/pseuds/Sundayeyes
Summary: This is the story of four princes, three raised together, one kept apart. Connected to each other by an ancient elemental magic that runs as deep as the blood in their veins.Soon they will come together for the first time in their lives, but can the three learn to trust someone they have never met? Can they all overcome the lies they have been told to find the truth they so desperately seek?The Trials of Succession are upon them, and only together will they be able to survive.
Relationships: Donatello/Michelangelo (TMNT), Donatello/Raphael (TMNT), Leonardo/Donatello (TMNT), Leonardo/Michelangelo (TMNT), Michelangelo/Raphael (TMNT), OT4 - Relationship
Comments: 52
Kudos: 68





	1. Education

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is NOT inspired by Avatar: The Last Airbender. I started writing this ages ago, long before I ever watched through Avatar, so any similarities are pure coincidence. Or proof that I have no original ideas. Take your pick. lol
> 
> Also, it's possible I will be adding more ships and tags as this develops, we'll see how it goes...

~*~*~*~

“... and that was five hundred years ago, when your ancestors first claimed this continent and the elemental spirits gifted them the power over the elements that you now control... Your Highness, please stop fidgeting and pay attention.”

“But it itches... why do I have to wear this thing?”

“Because your father says so. Raphael! Focus please.”

Raphael jolted awake at the sound of the instructor’s pointer slapping against the table in front of him. The late morning sun coming through the open window was warm on his skin and he’d dozed off resting on his hand, bored to tears that they had to be inside listening to the instructor drone on when what he really wanted was to be outside catching sand lizards.

Blinking the sleep from his eyes he looked over at his friend practically shoving his royal orange mask off his face in an effort to itch underneath it.

“But whyyy does he say so?” Michelangelo whined. “If it’s so important why doesn’t he wear one...”

The instructor sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose under her glasses. “This has been explained to you, my prince. In one week, the both of you, as well as Prince Leonardo, will be officially named as the crowned princes and heirs apparent. When that is done you will be expected to wear these bands of cloth as part of your royal dress, and your father wants you to become accustomed to wearing them before then so you do not disturb the ceremony with your fidgeting.”

“Don’t ya’ remember Mikey? Our fathers told us all about it last week.” Raphael said with exasperation, resisting the urge to fiddle with his own mask. It was the same as Michelangelo’s, only royal red in color.

“How am I supposed to remember something from last week!?” Michelangelo squeaked, itching under the cloth again until it slid off his head to flutter to the floor. He dived after it as the instructor sighed, louder than before.

“My young princes,” She began again, leveling them with a commanding stare from her sharp cat eyes. “You are but ten years old, and I can understand that you would rather be outside enjoying the sunshine, but this time is designated for your education. If you do not settle down and concentrate, I will be forced to report to your fathers how obstinate your behavior is and they will be the ones to decide how to deal with you. Do I make myself clear?”

“Sorry.” “Sorry.” The two princes said sheepishly, Michelangelo trying his best to sit still and not scratch under his mask.

The instructor eyed them closely, waiting until she was sure they were giving her their full attention. She had only lived in the earth kingdom for a few years and if anyone had told her on the day she arrived that she would soon be given the position of royal private instructor for the crowned prince she would have laughed, and yet, here she was. It was a job she took great pride in... most days... when the prince was in a mood to behave.

Unfortunately, it seemed that this was not one of those days. Her glossy ebony fur was puffed out in annoyance, her tail swishing side to side a little too stiffly, forcing her to take a steadying breath. She wasn’t accustomed to having more than one student, but the royal family from the fire kingdom had arrived early, intending to spend a week relaxing before the official ceremony, and Raphael’s mother had insisted that his time would be best spent if he joined young Michelangelo during his daily lessons. So, she unexpectedly found herself with two unruly boys under her care.

She turned back to the chalkboard, writing the subjects for the day’s lessons out with a small piece of chalk as she continued to speak. “Now, your ancestors divided this continent into four separate kingdoms, each of them claiming a region to rule and your families have prospered greatly through the centuries. Each kingdom has grown and thrived in their own ways, building up into the great empire that we know today...”

After a few minutes of listening to the drone of her voice and the scratching sound of chalk on the slate, Raphael started to doze off again, hoping he would dream about lunch so it could be time to eat sooner.

A warm breeze came in through the window, drifting across his skin and tickling the side of his face. There was a buzzing sound, light, just at the edge of hearing. It sounded like a fly was caught in the window.

“Raph...?” Michelangelo whispered in his ear.

“Mmm...” Raphael grunted without opening his eyes.

“Raph... don’t move.” Another whisper, closer this time.

What the heck was that nitwit talking about? Something tickled his cheek again.

He cracked an eye open with a groggy frown. The instructor was still writing on the board, her back to them.

“Mikey, get outta my face.” He growled irritably seeing how closely his friend was crouched right next to him.

Michelangelo was looking past him nervously. “... don’t freak out.”

“Why would I...?” But then Raphael heard it again, the low buzzing, and he recognized the sound this time. It wasn’t a fly.

Turning his head slowly he found himself face to face with a Bilifay. The tiny creature was hovering right next to his cheek. It’s body a miniature tornado of swirling air and dust and he could just make out the minuscule bits of leaves and flower petals it had managed to pick up as it flew about outside. Its pinpoint black eyes were staring at him in a quizzical way.

It made a soft, almost musical noise, a twittering chirp that didn’t carry beyond the table where the two princes sat frozen as they watched it carefully.

The sprite didn’t have regular arms or hands, only limbs of smaller funnels of twisting air that poked out from each side of it, but that didn’t seem to stop it from picking up things. And at that moment it was holding a bulbous green caperberry that it had plucked from a bush right outside the window.

The creature’s beady black eyes seemed to flick toward the instructor and then back to Raphael, then it twittered another quiet call and darted upward toward the ceiling. Raphael’s eyes widened as he looked up after it and he heard Michelangelo gasp beside him.

From its place near the ceiling, the fay gave them one last challenging look, then it turned and flung the hard berry directly at the instructor with all its tiny might. Its aim was true, and the fruit pelted her directly on the center of her backside with a loud ‘thwap!’

She yelped and spun, finding Raphael sitting in open mouthed shock and Michelangelo with his hands clasped over his mouth, holding back a snorting laugh.

“Raphael!” She accused sternly.

“It wasn’t me!” Raphael cried. “It was the...”

But before he could finish, the tiny creature swooped down from the ceiling and plucked the chalk right out of the instructor’s fingers. Chirping with a resonating trill, it darted about the room, immensely satisfied with itself.

“Oh!... for goodness sake...” She groaned, watching the fay flit about the room.

“I got it!” Michelangelo crowed, jumping onto the table and diving after the sprite.

The resulting chase was a chaotic blur. Raphael was seething, swiping for the small creature whenever it came within arm’s reach. Michelangelo was climbing over all the furniture trying to catch it, his whoops and hollers echoing off the walls while the instructor yelled at him to be careful.

Luckily, it was only a minute or two before Michelangelo cornered the tiny thing and swiped the chalk from its clutches as it twittered an indignant screech at having its prize stolen. Seeing that the fay was distracted by the prince, the instructor moved to quickly capture it in her fist.

These small magical creatures were unlike any other flora or fauna on the continent. They were the true children of the elemental spirits, made from the elements themselves. Air and water and earth and fire, snow and rock and tree and leaf. The fay were mysterious, sometimes malicious and always mischievous.

And even though this one appeared to be nothing but a swirling funnel of air, it somehow had substance, because the instructor was able to squeeze her fingers around it as it struggled to free itself. She stalked to the window and unceremoniously tossed the sprite outside, shutting the pane with a snap behind it. The creature spun and beat upon the glass for a moment, screeching loudly in its anger, before darting away and disappearing into the gardens.

“Can’t even keep the windows open anymore...” The instructor mumbled with a huff, turning to look at the boys and the mess in the room. Raphael was pointedly staring at her with a rather impressive scowl.

“I am sorry I yelled at you, Raphael.” She offered. “I should not have assumed.”

He accepted her apology with a shrug. “Why are those things always causin’ trouble?”

The instructor shook her head with a sigh. “Perhaps it is just their nature. Although they do seem to have become more bothersome in recent years.”

“They’re acting out because our elements are out of balance. They sense the change, and they don’t like it.” Michelangelo said as he held out the small piece of chalk.

She blinked, looking down at him with a concerned frown. That was something she truly hadn’t considered before, but it made a lot of sense. The spirits of the elements were directly influenced by the world around them, why would they not also be influenced by the instability within the families that they had chosen to bond with.

“You have always been far more astute than anyone gives you credit for, my young prince. And I imagine you are right. This current situation between your royal families must be causing the fay some amount of distress. It is distressing for us all.”

Michelangelo gave her a sad smile as she gently pushed him toward his seat. She returned to the chalkboard and quickly finished what she had been writing before the interruption.

“So, as I was saying before we were so dramatically interrupted, the Greater Terrapin Empire has a long and grand history, that is why it is crucial that you fully understand the importance of your roles within it. This vast continent was built with the blood, sweat and tears of the ancestors that came before you. They were powerful and just kings and queens who have left you a legacy that...”

“May I ask a question?” Michelangelo asked, his hand raised in the air.

“Yes, Your Highness… what would you like to ask?” The instructor replied, holding back her irritation.

“So, if the ceremony is next week, and if it’s for Raph and Leo and me... does... does that mean that Donatello will be there too? Will we finally get to meet him?”

Michelangelo’s voice was so hopeful, his crystalline blue eyes so large and pleading, that the instructor almost didn’t have the heart to answer. She saw Raphael’s head quickly snap up at hearing the question, eagerness on his face as well, and wished she could lie, just to keep from seeing their disappointment. But knew she couldn’t do that, not with this.

Again, she sighed, with sympathy this time, looking at them each before answering honestly. “I do not know the answer to that question. I wish I did. I would like to think that the importance of this ceremony will bring King Archus out of his self-imposed exile so that he may present his son as his heir with the rest of you. But I fear there is no evidence to suggest that he will.”

The hopeful looks on both boys' faces disappeared, replaced with an empty sadness and the instructor felt the weight of it in her heart. “I know how difficult this must be for you, my young princes. The magic shared between your families has always connected you, and to be separated from Prince Donatello must pain you every day. I wish I could tell you that he will be there and that you will finally all be together, but you must be prepared for the reality that he most likely will not. The water kingdom’s borders have been sealed for ten long years, no one knows why, and no one knows if they will ever be opened again.”

Tears brimmed in Michelangelo’s eyes and Raphael frowned, neither spoke.

Wanting to cheer them, the instructor smiled. “Do not trouble yourselves so. Perhaps the day of the ceremony will come, and we will all be surprised. Now, let us return to your studies, yes?”

“Yeah, ok...” Michelangelo replied sadly, itching under his mask again.

“Why don’t we start over with something simple? Which of you can tell me the names and elements of each kingdom in the Terrapin Empire?”

Michelangelo’s hand shot into the air, the young prince’s sadness disappearing as he eagerly bounced in his seat. “The air kingdom, Aeolus. The water kingdom, Varuna. The fire kingdom... uh...”

“Agni, dummy.” Raphael growled in annoyance. “Ya’ were just visitin’ me there last month.”

“Oh, yeah... sorry Raph.” Michelangelo apologized. No matter how much he tried he was always forgetting the name of Raphael’s kingdom.

“And where are we now, Michelangelo?” The instructor prompted.

“Sucellus!” Michelangelo exclaimed with a beaming smile. “The best kingdom of them all!”

“No way!” Raphael argued. “Earth will never be better than fire!” To accentuate his point, Raphael snapped his fingers, a small ball of fire erupting in his hand. “I can make fire wherever I am. You need the ground under your feet to use your power.”

“So!?” Michelangelo pouted, leaning away from the flickering heat in Raphael’s fist. “That doesn’t make you more powerful, Raph, it just makes you more annoying...”

“Raphael!” The instructor cut in sternly. “Please do not use your power indoors, you have been warned before.”

Raphael extinguished the flame, mumbling an apology before sticking his tongue out at Michelangelo.

“That was very good, Michelangelo. Four kingdoms representing the power of the four elements. The great elemental spirits granted you the powers you command and every twenty-five years they call the eldest born from each family before them in judgment. What is this event called?”

“The Trials of Succession.” The two princes said in unison.

The instructor nodded with a smile, “Yes, the trials will test your ability to control your elements and to work together as a team in joined brotherhood. When you have completed your trials, the elemental spirits will judge your worthiness and you will each be named king, replacing your fathers on the thrones of your kingdoms. You will also be ranked based on your performance, I asked you both to read this chapter from your history books last night, what becomes of the one who is ranked the highest? Michelangelo?”

Looking up toward the top of his head and scrunching up his face, Michelangelo tried to remember what he had read. “The... eldest born who is... victorious in the trials becomes the Emperor and... and... uh, oh! And rules over all the kingdoms with a compassionate and patient hand.”

Michelangelo grinned wide, proud of himself for remembering the text and the instructor gave him an approving nod. “That is correct. That is why the ruling emperor changes every twenty five years, and that is why it is so very important that you train diligently and remain studious with your lessons so you can grow to be the very best you can be and bring honor to your kingdoms.”

Raphael was frowning again and quietly chewing on his lip. His father, King Kaimon, had sat him down when he was eight and told him about all of this, drilling into his head the importance of his performance in the trials and of the honor he would bring his family name if he were to secure the emperor’s crown for his kingdom. It was something the fire kingdom had not held for over three hundred years and his father was adamant that with Raphael, the element of fire would come away victorious at last.

But even then, Raphael had wondered about the glaring problem that no one seemed to want to talk about. The water kingdom, and the prince that none of them had ever laid eyes on. When he’d asked his father why they had never met, Kaimon grew sad and told Raphael to be quiet, saying it was a very painful moment from his past and after seeing the look on his father’s face, Raphael didn’t ask him about it anymore.

But everything they had talked about today had him wondering again...

The instructor saw Raphael’s serious expression and she addressed him warily. “Do you have a question, my prince?”

He remained still for a moment before looking up. “What’ll happen to our trials if... if the water kingdom never reopens its borders? What happens if Donatello doesn’t show up?”

The instructor pressed her lips together, answering slowly. “That... I do not know. What has happened with the Kingdom of Varuna is unprecedented. In theory, the two of you, with Prince Leonardo, will complete the trials without the benefit of the water element. However, such a scenario has never come to pass before, and it is also possible the elemental spirits will not allow the trials to proceed without all of the elements present. I believe that all we can do is simply wait and see and hope for the best.”

Michelangelo fidgeted in his seat, speaking up with a quiet voice like he was afraid he was telling a secret. “Leo told me that... his father told him that... King Archus betrayed them during their trials and that he angered the elemental spirits and that they punished him for his treachery and that is why he shut himself away in his kingdom.”

“When did he tell ya’ that?” Raphael demanded, but the smaller prince just shook his head.

The instructor frowned; extraordinarily little information was known about the day the element of water was disqualified from the previous trials ten years earlier. The royal families refused to speak of the incident, preferring to pretend it had never happened rather than provide an explanation, and she knew better than to ask. Her job was to teach, not to ask questions of those above her station.

But this was something she had never heard before, not even in the whispers of the serving staff. If young prince Leonardo had accurately conveyed his father’s admission, then that truth held the power to change a great many things. The very idea of one of the four princes betraying the others for his own gain during the competition was unheard of and almost too sinister to even consider as reality.

She swallowed, filing the information away for further investigation later, and gave the earth prince a reassuring smile. “The fact is, there are only four people on this continent who know what happened that day, and unless all of them come together to speak of what occurred then we, as bystanders, must accept that we may never know the truth.”

Raphael grunted in frustration and sat back in his chair, crossing his arms across his front. Michelangelo sat looking down at his hands twisting in his lap, a worried frown creasing his brow.

“Where is Leo anyway? Wasn’t his caravan supposed to be here by now?” Raphael asked, glancing sideways at Michelangelo as the earth prince perked up with a curious look on his face.

“Yes, it was.” The instructor answered. “However, it was explained to me that an unexpected but important matter of state has delayed the departure of the royal family from Aeolus by a few days. They should be arriving by the full moon.”

“But isn’t that only a day before the ceremony?” Mikey whined. “We haven’t seen Leo in almost a year, and we were supposed to have a whole week together!”

“Of course.” Raphael grumbled, rolling his eyes in frustration. “The high and mighty emperor’s son managed to get out of having to sit through the boring stuff... again. By the time he gets here we’ll have been wasting away through these mind-numbing lessons for a whole week... hey!”

Raphael fell from his chair as a kicking ball hit him square in the face. Shaking his head, he peered up at the instructor from his place on the floor with a stunned look. Michelangelo was sputtering behind his hand, trying to hold back his laugh.

“I’m sorry you find my lessons so tedious, my young prince.” The instructor said jovially. “Perhaps we should go outside, and you can try and out score me at the foot nets. As I recall, young Michelangelo still holds the high score...”

“Not for long he don’t!” Raphael sneered excitedly, jumping to his feet and running for the door with the ball clutched in his hands, yelling over his shoulder as he disappeared through it. “Come on pipsqueak! I’ll race ya’ to the pitch!”

“Hey no fair! He had a head start!” Michelangelo yelled, darting after the prince of fire with a whooping laugh.

The instructor sighed, quickly following them, accepting with a smile that the lessons she had planned for the day were a bust. The princes were simply too worked up, a break and some exercise, that is what is needed more than books right now. The mystery of the water kingdom would have to wait for another day.

These were strange times, with many strange unknowns, but one thing would always be true, young princes would never miss a chance to one up each other with competition. Even if they had to do it with scratchy new masks on their faces.

~*~*~*~


	2. Agni, Kingdom of Fire

~*~*~*~

**Fifteen Years Later**

_…four months before the Trials of Succession are scheduled to begin..._

~*~*~*~

Water was an intimate part of Donatello, the magic flowed through his veins as deeply as his own blood. His entire life had been spent surrounded and soothed by its depths, held afloat by the ebb and flow of the rain and the rivers, the lakes and the sea. Every day he felt the pull of the tides calling to him. It gave him strength and calmed his spirit.

But never in his wildest imaginings did he ever think he could be in a place where the air itself was as warm as an oven while at the same time being so wet he may as well have been submerged in it. It was like breathing through a cloth soaked in the warmest bath water.

That wasn’t to say that the fire kingdom wasn’t pleasant with its tropical heat, the land definitely had its charms. He just wasn’t sure that breathing through air that he could chew was something that he would ever get used too.

His chestnut mare gave a frustrated snort as he led her toward the farrier. The shoe she threw earlier that morning was a delay he almost couldn’t afford, but her health was his number one priority. Without her he would be forced to cut his travels short, and that was the one thing he could not risk.

This was, after all, his first time outside the borders of his own kingdom, and he was eager to experience everything the other three kingdoms had to offer, the good and the unpleasant.

Throughout his youth he had wished with all his being that someday he would be allowed to travel away from his home. Kept secluded, almost exclusively, within the confines of his castle walls, the one thing he had wanted more than anything else was to see new lands and meet interesting new people. There was so much to learn and experience out in the world, and books could only give him so much information.

But no matter how many times he had asked, it was never to be. His father was in no position to grant his wishes, even if Donatello had bothered to ask him, and his priests were certainly not going to let him go, not after so much time. By their order, the borders of Varuna were to remain steadfastly sealed until the day he was crowned king and could legally give the order to have them opened. And until then he was to remain closeted away behind them, where he was safe, and where no one could ask questions.

But Donatello was nothing if not clever and resourceful and so lucky to have the help of his best friend and closest advisor. April had helped him hatch a, admittedly crazy, plan to escape the confines of his kingdom and explore the empire for six short months before he was expected to compete in the trials.

He knew that as long as he was able to make it outside the border of his kingdom without being identified then he would be free to do as he wished. Even if the priests discovered where he had gone, they would never risk exposure by sending his soldiers after him. The emperor would want an explanation for why the water kingdom’s army was suddenly on the march, and after twenty five years there were far too many secrets that could never be answered to risk trying to force the wayward prince back home.

He knew they would be angry with him, and he was prepared to face their wrath when the time came, but until then he was determined to have the time of his life. And the moment he exited the mountains of his homelands and descended into the valley of the fire kingdom for the first time, he knew he had made the right choice.

The verdant landscape was breathtakingly dense, full of deep green leaves and brightly colored flowers, with massive trees of palm stretching to the sky, their long curved branches arching open to the sun above.

But the true jewel of this warm wet paradise was its capital city. Donatello had so far spent the better part of eight weeks marveling at the low buildings spread over a rolling hillside in the shadow of a dormant volcano, their walls made of nothing but thick fabrics draping down from thatched roofs lain with the longest, most rigid blades of grass he had ever seen. Everything in this kingdom seemed to grow to twice, even three times what he considered to be a normal size.

It was all so different and new, and it almost made him never want to go home again.

As he approached the farrier his mare gave an excited whinny in greeting to a small pack of ponies gathered in a paddock to the side of the building. They all raised their heads, nickering in return as they moved to the fence to investigate the newcomer.

The building was squat and one of the few made from mud instead of fabric. The front was open to the outside by way of a large double door. Don could almost see someone crouched inside, just beyond the line of sunlight.

“Excuse me, sir?” Don called out.

An old turtle wearing a heavy apron and clutching a pair of long iron tongs poked his head out of the doorway. “Yes, young man? How may I help you today?”

“My girl here threw a shoe this morning.” Don answered, patting his mare’s neck. “I was hoping to travel by first light tomorrow, do you think she could be ready?”

The farrier came to them and looked the mare over, lifting her hoof and inspecting it closely. After a moment he stood back, wiping his hands on his apron. “There’s no permanent damage done. For two silvers I can have her fixed up and ready to go within an hour or so.”

“That would be great, thank you very much.” Don agreed, handing over the reins with the money. The farrier thanked him and disappeared with the mare into the dark building.

Across the road was a comfortable looking patch of clover grass overlooking the valley and the city nestled within it. Don settled there to wait, stretched out to soak in the warm sunshine.

From his vantage point he could see the royal estate where it was perched on a hill at the base of the volcano. The buildings were constructed of the same grass and fabric and mud as the rest of the city, but they seemed grander somehow. Maybe it was only his own royal bias coloring the way he viewed the world.

He thought about how different his life could have been if his circumstances hadn’t been so limited, if he had been allowed to make diplomatic visits, if his current visit here had been as a guest of the king, rather than in secret under the guise of a scholar writing a book on life in the empire.

It was the simplest ruse he could think of to maintain as he travelled. As long as he kept a roll of half scribbled parchment at his side at all times, he could deflect questions about who he was and where he was from. Most people grew bored and changed the subject as soon as he started talking about kingdom economies and trade.

But as he looked at the palace, he couldn’t help but daydream about what might have been. Perhaps he would have spent his winters here, basking in Agni’s warmth to avoid the snow and ice from back home.

And then there was the prince, Raphael. And Michelangelo and Leonardo. He knew all their names, of course, but that was all he had ever been told about them. When his father had sealed Varuna’s borders he had also cut off all communication with the world beyond their mountains. Donatello had never even been allowed to write them letters.

It made him nervous, the idea that he would be meeting them for the first time on the first day of the trials. It wasn’t supposed to work that way. They were supposed to enter the competition as friends who had grown up together, who knew each other’s strengths and weaknesses, who could work together as a team. They were supposed to be as close as brothers.

There were many things he was supposed to have in his life that fate had deprived him of. That was part of the reason he was on this journey to begin with. How could they expect him to be an effective king if he had never seen the world with his own eyes.

He sighed at the melancholy thought and laid back on his shell with his arms propped up behind his head, gazing up at the fluffy white clouds drifting lazily across the crystalline blue sky. The tunic he wore was just a little too heavy for the heat of the day and he was starting to lightly sweat, but it wasn’t enough to make him truly uncomfortable.

To his left he could hear the soothing gurgle of a small stream that was twisting its way down the hill into the valley. He let his head fall to the side as he stared at it longingly. The water looked cool and refreshing and he had to resist the strong temptation to simply lift his hand and pull the liquid to him.

April had made him promise, even swear on his mother’s grave, that he would never use his power while he was outside the borders of his kingdom. She had warned him, if anyone saw him manipulate the water it could place his life in danger. There was no way to know how others would react to his presence, and even if it were favorable, to have his identity revealed would bring up too many questions that Donatello simply could not answer.

It was a difficult but necessary sacrifice that had taught him a lot about his own self-control, even if it physically pained him to ignore the need to use his magic.

Besides, his life was so full of secrets anyway, what was a few dozen more in the name of exploration.

The water bubbling cheerfully in the stream still called to him though, and he was just contemplating getting up and walking over to it when he heard the scraping sounds of wheels in the dirt drawing near on the road behind him.

“Well look who it is! Funny running into you here my friend!”

Don lifted his chin, tilting his head back to look behind him. Approaching from the north was a merchant from the city square that he had befriended soon after arriving in Agni. He was a middle-aged turtle with uncommon brown spots covering a good portion of his jade colored skin.

“Elric!” Don answered with a grin, quickly sitting up. “I haven’t seen you in a week. How is your little one?”

“Growing like a weed and tougher than me by far!” Elric said with a roaring laugh. “Sorry for disappearing on you like that. I got a lead on some choice material and it couldn’t wait. Look! Eighteen full bolts of Cavern Spider Silk all the way from Aeolus for a price I would have been stupid to pass up!”

The merchant lifted the covering on the cart he was pulling behind him, beaming with pride. The silk was a shining sky blue with sparkling patches of white swirled through it. Don smiled as he approached, thinking of the bathrobe in his rooms back home that was made from almost the exact same fabric, only his was a deeper color, more purple than blue. He’d never seen a Cavern Spider himself, but if what he had read of the beasts was true, the color of the silk changed depending on the temperature of the cavern in which the spider built its nest.

“It’s beautiful.” Don offered. “I’m sure that will bring in a good profit for you.”

“Your damn right it will! Ha!” Elric guffawed again. “But what about you? Why are you out here on this fine day?”

“Just having my mare tended to.” Don answered, gesturing toward the farrier. “I’m glad I got to see you today because I’m afraid I will be leaving Agni in the morning. It’s time for me to continue on my journey.”

The merchant's face fell in shock. “No! My friend you cannot leave before the mask!”

Don blinked. “The... what?”

Elric huffed like he was offended that Don didn’t know what he was talking about. “The Wildfire Masquerade. It’s our grandest festival, held under the first blood moon of every year. The city has been buzzing about it for weeks! I can’t believe you haven’t heard! You must stay! There will be music and dance, enough drink to drown a Emberboar, and the fine company of many young men and women...” The merchant finished with a smirk, suggestively wagging his eyebrows.

Don offered a teasing grin, “Elric, what would your wife say to that?”

The merchant held up his hands in mock offense. “I may be married but I’m not dead, my friend! I’m allowed to appreciate a nubile young body if one is being flaunted in front of me.”

Don laughed and paused to think. The blood moon was only three days away. He could stay if he cut his days in Sucellus short.

There was no doubt it was a risk; he was supposed to be traveling incognito and the royal family was sure to make an appearance at such an important ball. But, at the same time, that was the appeal that had Don immediately considering it. The almost certain possibility of being able to catch a glimpse of Raphael was too good to pass up. Every day of his life he felt a gaping emptiness inside him that he knew was the absence of his elemental counterparts, and the thought that he could perhaps be close to one of them, if only for a moment before the trials began, was far too tempting to ignore.

Besides, he was skilled at keeping a low profile, and he would only need to stay a short while, so theoretically there was little risk. Not to mention the fact that there was no chance at all that the prince would recognize him for who he truly was. Until now no one outside of his own kingdom had ever seen his face.

Don nodded, grinning at his friend. “Of course, I’ll stay. It sounds like a lot of fun.”

“Wonderful!” Elric practically shouted, slapping Don on his shell and laughing heartily.

~*~

The night of the celebration arrived quickly, and Donatello found himself being pulled along with the crowd toward a large open field within a thicket of mangroves. The space had been transformed into a fay paradise, with hundreds of torches lining the edges, lighting the night with a warm glow.

Dozens of Velcafay bounced from torch to torch, dancing in the light, filling the space with their twittering calls as their small blazing bodies flickered cheerfully. There were tall tables scattered around an open dancing area with a group of musicians set up in front of a large dais near the back of the glade, the music they played a deep thrum that vibrated the ground beneath his feet.

Everyone was richly dressed in fantastic costumes made of the brightest fabrics with grasses and flowers adorning their shoulders and hips. And on each face rested ornately decorated masks made of plaster, painted to look like flickering, flashing flames, making every head look like it was a blazing fire.

Donatello planned to stay near the edges of the party, blending in with the shadows there, he wanted to simply observe and absorb the music and culture of the night, so he didn’t bother dressing up. Not that any of his limited belongings would have been suitable anyway.

Near the entrance to the clearing were a few tents set up offering food and drink and a variety of other things. As he passed the first tent he jumped with surprise when a withered old hand shot out and wrapped around his wrist.

He spun to see the wrinkled but fiercely clear green eyes of a granny turtle observing him up and down with a haughty look. “Just where do you think you’re going looking like that?! Hm?”

“I... uh...”

“Where are your adornments?! You can’t possibly think to go in there with nothing on?!” The old woman pursed her lips, waiting impatiently for an answer.

Donatello tried his best to hold back his grin. This old turtle was tiny but quite formidable, there was no doubt.

“I... I’m not from around here...” He started to explain.

“A foreigner eh?” She said with a squint and a sniff. “Well, come along then!”

She turned with a swiftness he didn’t expect from her bent old legs and dragged him behind her into her tent.

Fifteen minutes later he emerged looking unrecognizable to himself. The old granny had given him a thick grass skirt that hung to his knees, painted in oranges and reds, with a matching short cape dripping with the same colored grass. His mask covered half his face and was lavishly decorated with long thin palm leaves that curved up and over his head and small shining stones that ringed his eyes with flame making his face glitter in the firelight. He looked down at her with a grateful smile.

“Now you bring these back to me before you leave, you hear!? They’re not yours to keep!”

“Yes, ma’am!” He agreed with a chuckle. “I promise I will. Thank you.”

Her face softened with an indulgent smile as she shoo’d him away. “Go! Have fun dear.”

Moving through the sea of people he realized it had been foolish to think he would have been fine without a costume. Every single body in attendance was wearing the fancy dressings and he would have stuck out like a sore thumb without them.

He spent a moment trying to find his friend Elric in the crowd, but with a mask on every face they might have been standing right next to each other without knowing it. The costumes were so elaborate that no one could be identified, and it was so liberating. Almost immediately he found himself relishing the feeling that the mask made him completely invisible in the crowd, and that, for this one night, he could be anyone he wanted to be and forget about who he was pretending not to be.

An hour passed, then two, Donatello moved through the waves of people, eating and drinking without paying much attention to how much he was consuming. He was awestruck, completely drawn in by the intensity and the passion with which these people celebrated their lives. There was nothing from back home that he could compare it to, his people being far more reserved in their indulgence. For the first time in his life he allowed himself to feel more than he allowed himself to think and he was thoroughly enjoying being so pleasantly lightheaded.

Occasionally someone would grab his arm and drag him out to dance, trying to teach him the steps as he stumbled around beside them, but he found that he didn’t care that he probably looked like a fool as he laughed, hanging onto the arms of his partner. He was having far too much fun.

So much so that he lost all track of the time passing. It felt like only a moment had gone by when he looked up to find the full red moon reaching its peak in the inky black sky.

Don was thinking about finding a place to sit to rest his feet when the band stopped in the middle of a song and began to play a distinctly grander fanfare, heralding the arrival of the royal family. He perked up and without thinking moved closer to the dais, eager for his first look at the prince of fire.

King Kaimon and his Queen stepped out before their people to thunderous applause, dressed in opulent robes of red satin that shined in the firelight and complemented the dark green color of their skin. Their masks, carved in the shape of a dragon’s face were sparkling with metal and rich jewels, their shoulders lit with a mantle of real burning flame splayed up and out around their heads like a halo. A step behind them stood their three children dressed to match their parents, the younger twin princesses willowy and beautiful next to their mother, and beside the King stood their only son. Prince Raphael.

The King stepped forward with his arms raised, delivering an impassioned speech to the enraptured crowd. But Donatello didn’t hear a single word. He had gone numb, rooted to the grass where he stood, staring in stunned silence at Raphael, who watched his father address the gathered people with pride in his eyes.

The flames surrounding Raphael’s shoulders lit his face with a soft glow, reflecting off his amber colored eyes shining within his jeweled mask like starlight. The prince stood tall with a confidence that Don could feel from his place on the ground, power radiating off him like a towering wave on the sea. He almost forgot how to breath. Everything around him faded into a fog. All he could see was Raphael, all he could hear was the blood rushing in his ears.

He was overwhelmed by a sudden intense feeling of familiarity, like Raphael was an old friend that he hadn’t seen in far too long. Like they were connected by time itself and only distance had conspired to keep them apart. He felt a profound need to step forward in greeting, and might have foolishly done so, if the band hadn’t taken that moment to begin playing again.

As the king stepped back with his wife and daughters, sitting down at the table set up for them to begin celebrating with their own food and drink, sound rushed back into Donatello’s consciousness and he blinked, looking around with embarrassed heavy breaths. The crowd had begun drinking and dancing again. He felt either the strong urge to flee as fast as his feet would carry him, or the need to get himself another drink, he wasn’t really sure which.

With a dazed shake of his head, Donatello turned back to where Raphael stood on the dais, unable to stop himself from taking one last look.

But he wasn’t there, the prince had moved off the platform and was engaging with the crowd of people dancing below it. He watched as they gravitated toward Raphael, hands outstretched, happy to receive even the smallest touch or smile before spinning away to allow another close. They brought him food and drink, he offered a word or a laugh, Donatello was struck by how much his people genuinely adored him.

Somewhere in the periphery he was aware that he needed to keep a distance between himself and Raphael, so with reluctance he faded back into the throng, distracting himself with drinks and food and any dancing partner that would entertain him.

Soon after, the celebration reached a fever pitch and time lost all meaning. He was swept away in the rush, his senses fuzzy, his hearing muted, he could only feel, drunk on the wine and the atmosphere and the living breathing inferno of the moment. He was buzzing and numb, overcome by the beating thump of the music and the dull roar of conversation.

Occasionally he would catch a glimpse of deep emerald green skin or the flash of an amber colored eye through the thrumming sea of bodies. No matter how much he moved, no matter how many he danced with, no matter the time that passed or how low the torches burned, whenever Donatello would turn around he always found that Raphael was near. Like they were bound by a tether, pulling away only to be snapped back within each other’s orbit. They never made eye contact, never spoke, he couldn’t even be sure that Raphael was actually aware of him, his proximity could simply be coincidence, and Don knew that he was tempting fate with each passing second that he stayed within the celebratory mob, but still he couldn’t bring himself to leave. So, he danced and drank and tried to ignore the pounding of his heart.

All around him the dancing crowd was pressing closer, their warm bodies sliding against his in an imitation of the more intimate activities that were already taking place in the shadows just beyond the torchlight. They touched him and caressed him and whispered in his ear promises of the pleasures to be had if he would only take their hands and join them. He was tempted to his breaking point, the air in the glade thick and heavy with the sharp scent of arousal, and it took all his willpower to turn them down. Not because he didn’t want to, but because giving in to desire was not something he could allow himself to do, not here, not while he was so intoxicated. Not while he was so distracted.

The hours stretched away into the night, the moon having long since crested its highest point by the time Donatello began to feel the weight of the evening in the heaviness of the alcohol in his blood and the grittiness of sleep behind his eyelids. Exhaustion began to pull at his limbs, making it difficult for him to find the energy to react when his fateful luck finally ran dry.

The band began to play a soothing melody, slower and sweeter, bringing a moment of peaceful calm to the frenzied masses. He paced slowly through the middle of the throng, working his way out to find a bite, a breath, maybe a place to lay down. So dizzy was he in the atmosphere that it took a moment to notice the hand that wrapped around his wrist, tugging him gently around, pulling him flush against a wide golden plastron so much like his own.

Donatello breathed in without resistance as gentle fingers came to rest at his hip, guiding him to move with the hum of the melody. He refused to raise his eyes, choosing instead to stare at the chiseled arm that curved around his side. With a resigned, almost relieved smile he brought his hand up to rest against the solid muscle, marveling at the contrasting color of his olive toned fingers against the emerald skin that shined in the firelight.

A small inner voice was telling him that he needed to get away, that he was being foolish and risking everything, but as he listened to it, he found that he couldn’t be bothered to care. Raphael was warm and he smelled good, like smoke and grass, and the steady rise and fall of his chest was such a calming balm to Don’s frazzled mind, that all he could do was close his eyes and surrender to the sway.

Suddenly there was no denying that this moment was inevitable. Despite all his confidence in his ability to go unnoticed and the security he felt while hidden behind his mask, as soon as the prince of fire wrapped his arms around him, Don knew that every one of his choices had led straight to this and he had never been in control of it, not even for a second.

Raphael bent down to scent his neck and Don’s skin tingled where his lips barely brushed against his shoulder. It was all he could do not to turn his head and lock eyes with this mysterious prince that he had spent his entire life longing to meet. He licked his lips and swallowed instead.

“I’ve been following ya’ around all night.” Raphael said against his ear with a low rumble that sent a shiver through Don’s chest. “Tryin’ to figure this out. Feels like I know who ya’ are... but I don’t, do I?”

The question was a whisper, a quiet plea. Donatello shook his head slowly and replied with a whisper of his own. “No.”

“Then who are ya’?” Raphael asked as they continued to sway with the music. He shook his head. “I feel like you’re as familiar to me as my own family.”

Don frowned, fighting the desperate urge to tell Raphael that he thought the same, that the connection he felt between them was overwhelming in its power. But somewhere through the haze in his mind a rational thought told him it wasn’t real, it wasn’t true. That these feelings were fueled by the night and the excess and the pulse of the music and that they would fade. By the morning they would be gone as surely as the alcohol in their veins. So, he said nothing.

“What’s your name?” Raphael whispered, leaning in close, his breath warm against Don’s cheek.

Donatello almost told him. Almost said it out loud. The word jumping to the end of his tongue before he barely swallowed it back down. He gripped the warm arm beneath his fingers a little bit tighter, knowing that he was dangerously close to exposing everything, that he had to leave, had to escape from the solid comfort of Raphael’s arms as quickly as he could before he ruined it all.

He shook his head and tried to pull away, but Raphael held him firmly, ducking his head down to say something again at the same moment that Don turned as he went to step back and their lips barely pressed together, the stones on his mask clicking against the jewels on Raphael’s.

Everything around them seemed to freeze in place. All Don could hear was the feeble chirping calls of the few Velcafay that still enjoyed the tickling warmth of the surrounding torches and the booming thrum of his own heartbeat. He held his breath as he found his wide eyes locked in Raphael’s golden gaze.

Strong fingers dug into his hip as Raphael moved against him, not actually kissing him, just moving his lips featherlight against Don’s, allowing their beaks to brush together and their breaths to mix and warm the space between them.

Donatello was too weak to stop it. The magic within him hummed with pleasure, like it knew one of its own was near, and he basked in the feel of it. It was so unlike anything he had ever felt before.

“Why don’t we get outta here?” Raphael whispered with a smile and Don almost melted from the heat of it. “Go somewhere quiet, where we can hear ourselves think?”

He released a dismayed breath, struggling to contain the desperate pull within him to just give in, to go with Raphael, to reveal it all and damn the consequences. But there was just a single sliver of sanity left in him that the drink had not yet consumed, and somehow it won over all else.

Trembling with great effort he pulled back, whispering an apology. “I’m sorry... I can’t... I have to go.”

Twisting sideways and using all his skill, he broke free of Raphael’s hold, disappearing into the gathered embracing lovers surrounding them. He heard the prince yell after him, but ignored it and the eyes watching them, blocking out the sounds and smells and everything around him, gulping against the knot of despair in his chest.

The magic roared its disapproval, ringing loudly in his ears, but he firmly clamped down on it, forcing it to the back of his mind where he could ignore how nauseous it was making him feel.

Somehow, he made it back to the old granny’s tent without being followed, quickly ducking in through the flap she held open for him before he could be seen. He stripped off his borrowed adornments and thanked her again around the lump in his throat.

Raphael’s scent clung to his skin, Don could still feel his insistent fingers on his hip, could still see the fire in his amber eyes as they barely kissed. How had everything gone so wrong, so quickly? He was such an idiot. He knew this was a bad idea, but he showed up anyway. Maybe his priests were right... he was too naive to be out in the world, too sheltered, innocent, trusting...

Distantly he knew how he felt was only momentary, that he would wake in the morning in embarrassment over his complete lack of self-control, but that it would pass and everything would be normal again as soon as he could get back to his room at the inn and go to sleep. This was nothing more than a singular lapse in judgment and he would just need to be far more careful in the future now that he knew what not to do.

The granny turtle made him drink a cup of hot tea and eat half a loaf of fresh warm bread before she would let him leave. And if she noticed the desperate longing shining in Donatello’s eyes, she was kind enough not to mention it.

~*~*~*~


	3. Sucellus, Kingdom of Earth

~*~*~*~

**Eight Weeks Later**

_...two months before the Trials of Succession are scheduled to begin…_

~*~*~*~

Donatello could easily admit his desperate love for the Earth Kingdom. If there was any place in the entire world he could love as much as his own kingdom, Sucellus was it.

It was a feeling that surprised him more than anything else on his journey so far, because Sucellus was a desert.

The capital sat snuggly in the depression of a fertile valley, the city cut in half down the middle by a small tributary that flowed down from the hills and emptied into an oasis that could only be described as modest at best, not even large enough to call a lake. Its intimate size made it a vibrant jewel nestled within a landscape that was light and arid, with dry brush and small spindly trees stretching out for miles in all directions.

Don could never have imagined a place so drastically different from all that he had ever known. There were no mountains, no large bodies of water, nothing that was green or lush outside of the city itself. But he loved it anyway.

Sucellus was easily the smallest of the four kingdoms but it never felt that way, character and culture burst from within its walls like nothing could ever hope to contain it. There was so much art and music and architecture to absorb, he thought he could spend a hundred years walking the ancient stone streets, gazing at the carved marble columns and statues that seemed like they would come to life if you stared at them too long, and he still would never be able to see all of it.

But a city by itself is nothing if it’s not animated and amplified by the quality of its citizens, and Sucellus was a shining example of that. All around him were some of the most friendly, joyous and helpful people Don had ever encountered. He almost never saw anyone without a smile on their face. Laughter and singing filled the air wherever he happened to be. They were hard working and carefree all at once.

Every day was the same and yet never did one seem boring or dull. Mornings were for work, conducting business, taking care of shopping or errands and managing the day-to-day responsibilities of their lives. It seemed to be a normal, thriving city in every sense that mattered.

It wasn’t until the sun set on his first day within its walls that he learned the true philosophy by which these people lived.

_’Never let work stop you from living.’_ They would chant like a prayer once the sun had reached its peak at midday, their smiles beaming as they shut up their shops and cafes and galleries. In a blink the streets were empty, with everyone retreating into their homes for a meal and an afternoon sleep. Then, when the sun was just starting to lower in the sky, Don watched with wonder as adults, young and old alike, emerged to fill the streets again and the party would last until dawn lit the sky.

Every moment of existence was a celebration for these people. Love, life, death, marriage, birth, everything was joyously praised with as much art, music, eating, drinking and fornicating that could be crammed into the far too few hours before dawn. During the short time he had spent among them, Donatello was exhausted and fulfilled in ways that he never knew was possible.

And he was so grateful that Sucellus had proven to be far less intense than his experience in the fire kingdom. Donatello had left Agni the morning after the masquerade shaken and uneasy with half a mind to go straight back home and crawl under his bed. But, against every instinct that screamed in his head, he had pressed on, and the earth kingdom had soothed his soul, providing the balm he needed to erase that night of excess from his mind and forget about the feelings that still lingered when he closed his eyes.

He couldn’t explain why he had reacted to Raphael as strongly as he did. He wanted to blame the drink or the smoke, or maybe the moon itself was responsible, casting its spell over the glade, bewitching everyone in attendance. He supposed anything was possible.

But none of those feeble excuses revealed why he could still feel the blood rushing in his veins when he remembered the prince of fire’s shining amber eyes, or the heat of his fingers as they rested against his skin, or how perfectly their bodies fit together as they danced.

It was something he was trying his best not to think about at all, because anxiety wasn’t something he handled well on a good day, and because in a staggeringly short amount of time he would be spending every day in Raphael’s presence. His performance in the trials depended on him figuring out how to control this strange new flood of emotion.

And the earth kingdom was proving to be exactly the distraction he needed. Under the stars the people would walk the streets, eating and drinking and dancing and singing with absolutely no concerns for personal privacy or modesty whatsoever. Sex, in any consensual form, was accepted and even encouraged anywhere the mood struck, and passerby were more than happy to make sure everyone had a pillow or a blanket or a drink for maximum comfort.

Because not having a good time was simply not allowed after dark in Sucellus, in all the best ways.

Walking past a young couple lost in the throes of passion practically in the middle of the street had been a bit of a shock to Don during his first night within the city, but now he found such behavior refreshing and he could see the positive effects it seemed to have on everyone’s mental health. Before long he found himself wondering if his own people might be open to adopting some of the tamer Sucellen customs. It was a question he fully intended to bring to his advisors when he returned home, in any case.

Wandering through the brightly lit crowded streets was not how he generally preferred to experience the midnight hours, however. More often than not he chose to spend his nights enjoying one of the many bathhouses scattered throughout the city, not only because the water called to him, but because they provided some of the best food he’d ever had outside of his own palace.

His favorite bathhouse was built around a natural desert spring, the clear water bubbling and pooling around a veritable forest of massive boulders. Walls had been constructed between each towering rock, and each room was connected by a winding central hall that led to a small garden at the back of the property normally reserved for exclusive gatherings. To add to the atmosphere, they had chosen not to build a roof, it was a luxury that allowed the patrons an unencumbered view of the night sky as they bathed.

All the bathhouses in Sucellus were elegant and grand, but due to the positioning of the rocks, this location offered smaller, more private rooms, and the intimacy of the place brought Don a feeling of comfort that he favored.

Sighing in relief he lounged blissfully on the edge of a medium sized pool in one of the smaller rooms, his legs dangling in the water warmed by the boulders themselves after absorbing the heat of the sun all day. He laid back with his arms behind his head, staring up at the stars before closing his eyes, feeling the warm liquid seep into his skin. It surged through his veins like he was a piece of dried fruit, plumping him back to life.

Donatello was determined to enjoy what he decided was to be his final night in Sucellus. He had a timetable to keep, and even though he would have liked to stay for another week or two, he knew if he didn’t leave now, he wouldn’t have the time to visit Aeolus before he was expected to return home.

The trials wouldn’t wait for him, no matter how much he wished he could skip them all together.

He was dozing, enjoying the quiet music that drifted to his ears from somewhere outside, when suddenly the soft tickle of fingers tentatively ran from his ankle up to his knee. He lifted his head, looking down to find a young turtle maid, her pretty skin the vibrant color of sea kelp, floating between his knees. She smiled at him sweetly, her invitation obvious as she blinked.

Don sat up slowly, offering her a warm smile in return while resolutely shaking his head. She answered with a pout, her pink lip sticking out adorably. But when he didn’t change his answer she sighed and leaned over to place a quick kiss on the inside of his knee before pushing back and floating away in search of a more amiable partner.

He watched her go, almost instantly regretting his choice as she slid into the arms of a handsome young male turtle and together, they joined a few others that had started to gather in a back corner where plush cushions were laid out to accommodate small groups.

Taking a deep breath to calm his steadily increasing heartbeat, he rose from the water and reached for a towel to dry his legs.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to accept her advances. But as a prince, he was heir, not only to the kingdom of Varuna, but most importantly to the entire element of water and the one thing his priests had always made crystal clear to him was the fact that he needed to be incredibly careful when choosing who to bring into his bed.

The gift of their powers was passed onto their first-born child, regardless of how or with whom that child was conceived and making a mistake with the wrong person could have lasting consequences if he weren’t exceedingly cautious.

So, as much as he thought he wanted to join them, it was probably best if he avoided the temptation all together.

Reluctantly he slipped into his loose trousers and stepped out into the hall. A plate of food and a cup of wine was probably a better distraction anyway.

The serpentine space was empty as he walked slowly toward the foyer at the front of the bathhouse where refreshments were served. As he drew close, he passed the smallest room, only large enough for a few people, the water it offered hotter than any of the others due to the tiny size of the pool within it.

A delicately painted screen door blocked off the entry for privacy and as Don passed it he heard a deep rumbling voice that sent a shiver shooting straight down his spine. Instantly recognizing the low timber, he jerked to a hard stop and stared at the screen door with wide eyes.

A light laugh came to his ears a moment later, carrying over the lower voice, breathy and excited and rapidly speaking but Don couldn’t quite make out the words. His eyes were drawn to a small tear in the fabric at the very edge of the screen, right along the frame, and without any control over his own feet, he stepped closer, tilting his head to peer through the tiny opening.

His breath caught seeing Raphael leaning against the edge of the pool with a small smirk on his face. He was wearing his simpler band of royal red cloth around his eyes now, rather than the extravagant jeweled mask he wore for the masquerade, but he would have been instantly recognizable even if Don hadn’t heard him speak.

Before him, rising slowly from beneath the surface of the steaming water was a smaller turtle with skin as brightly green as the sea and Don didn’t need to hear his name to know who he was.

“Besides...” Michelangelo said quietly, the water running in rivulets down his arms. “You look good in a toga.”

Raphael rolled his eyes with a shake of his head as he reached out and grabbed hold of the edge of Michelangelo’s plastron, pulling him in close. “Shut up and come ‘ere.”

Michelangelo laughed again. “You know, if you wanted me all to yourself, we could have just stayed in my rooms.”

“Maybe I didn’t before, but now I changed my mind.” Raphael said, drawing Michelangelo into a deep kiss.

Donatello silently gasped and leaned back, breaking his line of sight. He took a shaking breath, the magic within him had surged with glee the second he laid eyes on the two princes, and now the powerful urge to slide back the screen and join them was so strong he almost couldn’t resist it.

He had to get out of the bathhouse as quickly as possible. He’d risked enough that night at the mask, and now with two of them in the same place it would be supremely stupid of him not to get his things and leave Sucellus this very hour.

That was what his brain was screaming at him anyway. The rest of him was another story. When he leaned forward to look through the small tear in the screen again, it was like some outside force had complete control of his body and he was helplessly watching it happen.

His vision refocused just as Michelangelo was pulling away from Raphael’s kiss. “Hmmm... you changed your mind because we were given an empty room and now you don’t have any other options.”

“That’s not true.” Raphael said with a slight frown. “It’s those concubines your wife keeps around. The way they’re always smilin’ gives me the creeps.”

Michelangelo threw his head back with a full belly laugh. “Why wouldn’t they be smiling? You know my wife has many varied talents. Her offer is still open, by the way, and I think you should stop being stubborn and take her up on it. Every day I have to listen to her talking about how she wants to mount you like a...”

“No! No. I’m good.” Raphael insisted, shaking his head with urgency. “Are ya’ tryin’ to get me in trouble? I go anywhere near her and my father’ll burn me alive, ya’ know that! Let’s just stay here. I’d much rather be in an empty room with ya’ then fightin’ off that temptation all night.”

“Gee, thanks...” Michelangelo said with a patiently raised eyebrow.

Raphael grinned sheepishly, reaching up to run his thumb across the smaller turtle’s cheek. “Aw, come on. That’s not what I meant...”

“Heh, I know what you meant.” The earth prince murmured. “I guess we just have to make the best of this then.” He finished with a teasing smirk, sliding his hands down Raphael’s plastron as he slowly sank to his knees, the water sloshing around his waist.

The look on Raphael’s face was eager as he watched Michelangelo settle in front of him, his fingers curling around the back of his head.

The prince of earth wasted no time, peppering kisses across the bottom edge of Raphael’s plastron, ducking down deep into the creases of his groin, burying his face into the warmth he found there and tasting it with what Don could only assume was long sweeps of his tongue. He couldn’t quite tell from his limited angle and he wished the small tear he was looking through was just a little bigger so he could see better.

He shifted his feet, unconsciously leaning closer until his face was almost pressed right against the screen, fascinated by the flex of Raphael’s biceps as he gripped the stone behind him with his free hand, guiding Michelangelo forward on his knees with the other, scooting him in closer, sloshing the water over the edges of the pool in his haste and Donatello swallowed hard.

He needed to go. Anyone could walk by and catch him looking. Why couldn’t he make his feet move? There was a tugging pull in the center of his chest, like a siren’s call, flaring with a heat he had felt for the first time only a few weeks ago, under a darkened sky and a blood red moon.

The low rumble of a churr reached his ears and his hand shot forward, his fingers wrapping around the handle on the screen of their own volition with every intention of opening it and stepping through, his eyes widening as he distantly realized he wasn’t going to be able to stop himself.

“Wait... do you feel that?” Michelangelo asked, puzzled.

Pulling sharply away from Raphael he turned to stare at the closed screen door at the same moment another screen door further down the hall opened, spilling light and a small group of laughing, drinking Sucellens into the quiet space.

Don jerked back with a gasp, looking toward the commotion. The sudden noise seemed deafening and shattered the spell that had caught him so effortlessly. He caught movement out of the corner of his eye and swung back to the tear in the screen just as Michelangelo was stepping out of the steaming pool and moving with purpose toward the closed screen door.

A wave of panic blossomed in Don’s chest, his heart instantly hammering against his ribs. He had to move, quickly, or Michelangelo would find him standing there, spying on them like a lunatic.

He forced his feet to move, lurching to the side with an undignified squeak. If they caught him, there would be nothing he could do. This wasn’t a dark crowded field full of dancing bodies, this was an almost empty hallway with nowhere to hide.

How did this keep happening?! Sucellus was a major city, Agni was a major city, with thousands of people living their lives. The odds that he would encounter even one of the other princes, let alone two of them, let alone two of them in the exact same place, was astronomical. This was ridiculous.

In his haste to get away, Donatello failed to notice that he had turned in the wrong direction and was heading deeper into the bathhouse, away from the main exit and safety. Door after door blurred past him as he walked swiftly down the hall.

The revelers retreated back into their room, closing the screen door behind them, quiet descending on the hall again. And in that quiet he could hear the distinct sound of quick feet slapping on the stone floor in pursuit of him as he fled. A burst of adrenaline rushed through his veins and he only just held himself back from breaking into a full sprint.

Before him, at the end of the hall, was one inviting opening with greenery visible just beyond its threshold and he blindly passed through it, rushing into the green space looking frantically for a door.

The garden was large, decorated with thick bushes blanketed in fragrant white blooms and surrounded by tall leafy trees, the tops of which brushed against a sturdy pergola above, built to completely cover the space and contain the flock of exotic finches that flit about from tree to tree as they filled the air with their cheerful song. There was a fountain in the center of the yard, gurgling pleasantly.

But even the enticing call of the water could not comfort him now. Don made straight for the perimeter wall, hoping he could climb over it or maybe find a small service entrance to slip through as the sound of footsteps behind him grew louder with each passing second.

There was nothing. The entire garden was completely enclosed. Don spun in a circle, searching desperately for a way out. He was out of time and out of options.

To his right he spied a tall hedge tucked up into the corner and instantly decided it was the best option he had. Diving for it, he squeezed into the narrow space between the leaves and the perimeter wall, holding his breath and freezing still as a statue. Not even a second later his pursuers came bursting into the garden.

“Raph, he’s here! I know it!” Michelangelo’s breathing was heavy, and his voice agitated.

“Who?” Raphael asked with clear annoyance.

“Donatello!”

There was a heavy pause and when Raphael’s voice came again it was thick with confusion. “What?”

“The magic, can’t you feel it?! It’s coming off him in waves.”

Don winced and shut his eyes. There was another long pause, with only the splashing sound of the fountain breaking the silence.

Then Raphael sneezed so loudly he scared the birds in the trees.

“Gah! Come on Mikey!” He growled as he sniffed. “I don’t feel nothin’, and ya’ know I can’t be out here. I wanted to relax, not chase ya’ around on one of your tangents again. Come find me when you’re done runnin’ around like a crazy person.”

The sound of Raphael’s heavy footsteps faded as he left, but Don didn’t dare move even an inch. Michelangelo hadn’t made a single sound, but Don knew he was still there, he could feel his presence like a heavy blanket on his shoulders.

A long moment passed before the earth prince’s quiet voice finally drifted to him from somewhere near the fountain.

“I know you’re here. I can feel you. Your magic... it’s reaching out so desperately...”

Don laid a hand against the stone of the back wall. It had honestly never occurred to him that their power would be a physical sensation they could feel between each other. But there it was, that same tugging, tingling pull deep in his chest, like there was a tether straining between them. And now that his attention had been drawn to it, he couldn’t possibly mistake it for anything else.

Suddenly it was all he _could_ feel, and it explained so much. The intense familiarity for Raphael that had overwhelmed him at the masquerade, the way they had circled each other and how relieved Don had felt when he finally found himself in Raphael’s arms. It was never the alcohol or the moonlight or the music resonating in his bones. It was just them, the way it should have always been.

“Please come out...” Michelangelo’s plea was soft and strained and Don released a defeated breath.

There was nothing he could do, nowhere for him to run, and he laughed quietly to himself as he accepted it. This had been the stupidest idea he’d ever had, April was right, there was never a scenario where he would have been able to complete his journey without being discovered, he should have known better. And now it was all over.

_‘I wonder if I’ll be treated as a royal guest or a prisoner of war...’_ Don idly thought as he drew himself up. They would ask a million questions of him, questions he couldn’t answer because there was too much he needed to protect. And there was no one to blame but himself. He’d gotten himself into this mess and now he had to face the consequences of it.

Doing his best to keep his face as emotionless as possible, he squared his shoulders and slowly stepped out from behind the hedge, stopping a few feet away from the safety of the back wall where he had plenty of space to move, if he needed to.

Drawing in a shaky breath Don found himself locked in the piercing gaze of the brightest blue eyes he had ever seen, eyes deep as a mountain lake and framed by an ornately embroidered band of orange cloth that wrapped around his face in perfect contrast to both the blue of his irises and the light green of his skin. A fluffy towel was tucked in at his waist, resting low on his hips, absorbing the drops of water that still clung to his legs.

He wasn’t handsome like Raphael, not in the same way. There was none of the rugged, weighted power that the prince of fire so easily radiated. Michelangelo was lighter, brighter, his face open with such innocent wonder that Don was immediately finding it hard to maintain his defensive posture.

They stood frozen and staring for a long moment, like each was waiting for the other to make the first move.

Finally, Michelangelo shook his head. “You’re really him... aren’t you?”

Don’s breath caught in his throat. It was probably a rhetorical question, there was little doubt Michelangelo knew exactly who he was, but if there was even the slightest chance that the earth prince was not completely certain of his identity then Don had to take it.

He swallowed uncomfortably before answering with a short bow of his head. “Your Highness, I’m not sure who you think I am, but I promise you I am nothing more than a simple scholar, and I’m afraid I’ve...”

With a swiftness that rivaled even the fastest Bilifay, Michelangelo swooped down, plunging his hand into the fountain beside him and flinging a cupped handful of water right at Donatello’s face.

Don didn’t even have the chance to think, it was pure instinct. With practiced ease he raised his hand and caught the water midair, pulling it into the shape of a small orb that he held over his palm in front of him, and the momentary rush of using his power for the first time in four months overrode the realization of what he had just done. He stood blinking at it for a second before a shocked chill ran through him and he quickly looked at the earth prince.

Michelangelo was gazing at him with the widest of grins plastered on his face.

Angry at himself for falling for such a simple trick, Donatello released a grumbling huff and dropped the water to splash on the ground at his feet.

“I’m sorry, but I had to be sure.” The earth prince laughed.

“Fine.” Donatello finally said. “You’ve found me out. So, what now? Are you going to interrogate me? Drag me before your father so he can decide what to do with me?”

Michelangelo tilted his head. “Why would I do that? You haven’t done anything wrong. Not unless you’re here to kill me. Wait... you’re not, are you?”

Don blinked in complete confusion at the flash of fear in the earth prince’s eyes. What kind of question was that? He wasn’t a... oh. Well, that wasn’t really an unreasonable assumption to make under the circumstances, he supposed. A litany of half formed responses jumbled up in his brain before he finally answered with nothing more than a whispered ‘no’.

Relief softened Michelangelo’s face and he smiled. “They all think that you... well... it doesn’t matter what they think. You’re really here... I almost can’t believe it.”

Michelangelo took a step forward but stopped when Donatello immediately tensed.

“What about him?” Don asked, tipping his chin toward the door that led back to the hall and the bathing rooms.

Michelangelo smirked. “Who? Raph? He won’t come back in here, he’s allergic to the azaleas. They make him sneeze.”

With a self-satisfied, toothy grin he plucked a white bloom from a nearby bush, smelling deeply from the fragrant blossom before tossing it into the fountain.

Don frowned, “You told him you saw me.”

Michelangelo shrugged. “He doesn’t believe me. Besides, he’s halfway through his third bottle of wine already. By tomorrow he probably won’t even remember we came in here. And he... he’s never really been able to feel our magic, not like me. You could say I’m a little more attuned to it than the others. Not even Leo can feel us as strongly as I can, and he’s _way_ more into that kind of thing than I’ve ever wanted to be.”

Don watched the earth prince carefully as he spoke. The smaller turtle was drawing steadily closer with each word, but he was moving slowly so Don didn’t call him on it. Taking a few discrete steps to his left he kept a careful distance between them. The closer they came together the more the magic within him sang with joy, like a hive of buzzing bees pulsing through his veins.

Michelangelo watched him step away and gave him a sympathetic look, concern and understanding and longing written all over his face. He almost looked like he might start to cry with the way his eyes were shining.

“I’ve imagined this moment hundreds of times.” He offered quietly. “We all have. We’ve tried to picture what you would look like, what we would say to each other. And now here you are and... and... _why?_ Why did he keep you from us? Why did he lock you away?”

“He didn’t... ...it’s complicated.” Don deflected, taking a deep breath and clenching his fists, almost blurting out truths in defense of his father that couldn’t be told. Not now, not yet.

Michelangelo must have sensed his reluctance because he immediately held up his hands with an apologetic smile. “Ok, that’s ok, I’m sorry. You don’t have to talk about it right now if you don’t want to. That’s not what this has to be about. Fair warning though, Leo is gonna drill you relentlessly about it, that’s kind of his thing. And he won’t wait until after the trials are over either. It’ll be a first night around the campfire type deal.”

A wave of guilt crashed over him, because the truth was that every part of him wanted to let go, to let Michelangelo in, to have someone that he could finally confide in.

“I know you have questions,” Don sighed. “and... I want to tell you, all of you, I do. But there are pieces of this even I don’t know the answers too, and until I discover them... I can’t...”

“I get it, but...” Michelangelo said, moving closer by a couple of steps. “Is that why you’re here? If there’s something you’re searching for, I can help you. We’ll all help you, with anything you need.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.”

There were dozens of reasons why he was on this journey but finding answers to the many questions surrounding his father was not one of them, not now in any case. He wasn’t even sure there were answers to be had with so many unknowns standing in his way.

Even so, he felt light with the realization that here, in this garden at the very least, he was in no danger. The air between them crackled with energy, but instead of frantic it was soothing and calming. Michelangelo was one of his own, one of the few that could perfectly understand what it was to be who he was. He gazed into those pleading blue eyes and truly wished he could tell Michelangelo everything.

But he couldn’t. There was still one particularly important person that Don needed to protect, that he absolutely couldn’t fail, not now that they were so close to end. So, he settled for a fraction of the truth.

“I’m here... because I’ve never been anywhere. How can I be king when I’ve never seen what exists beyond the borders of my own kingdom? I need to experience the world, to learn about it outside of the pages of a book.”

Michelangelo had stopped next to him, close enough to touch, and it was taking all of Don’s willpower not to step in closer. He smelled earthy and sweet, like citrus and moss and soil during a rain, and it was intoxicating.

“I understand.” The earth prince soothed. “You want to see the world, and now you’re taking the chance while you can still do it in secret. Honestly, I would’ve done the same if it was me.”

And just like that Donatello went completely numb, his eyes glazed and locked on Michelangelo’s face so close to his own, blinking as he tried not to think about how enticing his lips were and maybe what he would taste like if he just...

“Do you like it here, in my kingdom?”

The simple everyday question distracted Don from the turn his thoughts had taken and he smiled gratefully. “It’s lovely. My favorite, so far.”

“So far... how long have you been here?”

“Eight weeks, give or take a few days. It’s kind of easy to lose track of time here.”

“Heh, yeah.” Michelangelo laughed softly. “So... I’m guessing you’ve already been to Agni, seeing how it’s kind of on the way.”

Don nodded, “It was nice. A little too hot for my taste.”

“Yes! That’s what I always say. It’s muggy and the air is so heavy there. But don’t ever let Raph hear you say that. He gets all grumbly and complains about how everywhere that isn’t Agni is too cold.”

They both laughed at that mental image of Raphael and somehow it was easy for Don to believe, even though he knew next to nothing about the prince of fire.

“Well, he should probably never come to Varuna then, everything back home is covered in snow for six months out of the year.”

“I can’t wait to see it...” Michelangelo said after a few heartbeats, his face eager and shining with delight. Moving swiftly, he closed the distance between them until there was only a sliver of space separating their bodies, his eyes sliding shut as he tilted his head down and breathed in deeply.

“You smell like the sea... and juniper.” He whispered, turning slightly so their noses almost bumped. “And your eyes... like quicksand, pulling at me...”

Don shuddered, biting the inside of his lip. Time hung, unmoving around them, as they held their breath. The pounding of his own pulse was the only sound in his ears. Even the birds stopped singing like they were waiting for a choice to be made.

Something undefinable was vibrating across his skin and he itched to move his hands and find out what it would feel like if he completed the connection. But he held firm, somehow managing to control the impulse, and eventually Michelangelo huffed out a light laugh, clearing his throat.

“So, um, I’m guessing you’ll be going to Aeolus next then?”

Don looked up into the branches of the trees as he tried to focus on the question rather than the warm breath brushing across his cheek. “I was going to... but not now. My goal was to remain hidden while I traveled, so I could observe and learn. But now that you know I’ve been here that’s no longer tenable. I should just go home and wait for the trials to start.”

“No!” Michelangelo yelped, pulling back sharply. “You have to go to Aeolus.”

Caught off guard by the sudden urgency in his voice, Don looked down, finding the earth prince’s face dark and serious. “Why...?”

Michelangelo shuffled his feet for a moment, an uncomfortable frown shadowing his face, before carefully answering in a voice so quiet Don had to strain to hear it.

“I could try and explain it to you, but it’s really just something you need to see for yourself. It’s easier to understand that way. Besides, you came all this way, it would be a shame if you didn’t finish what you started.”

Don wasn’t sure if that last bit was still about Aeolus, or if he was referring to the magnetic pull energizing the air between them that had them both mesmerized, but either way he couldn’t argue. It _would_ be a shame.

Deciding he didn’t need to acknowledge the vague suggestion with words, he answered with nothing more than a lopsided grin and a nod, satisfied when Michelangelo beamed.

“It’s a nice enough place,” The earth prince assured, the lightness returning to his voice. “If you like rocks and ice and snow, anyway.”

“I guess I’ll feel right at home then.” Don chuckled. A short silence stretched between them, making Don worry about what might happen if he stayed any longer. The last thing he wanted was to make a mistake he might regret.

“I should probably go.” He said apologetically, his gaze falling on the open door leading back to the hall. “I don’t have a lot of time left.”

Michelangelo’s disappointment was palpable, his fingers flexing at his sides, but eventually he nodded with acceptance.

“Here, let me...” He whispered.

Donatello watched as Michelangelo extended his arm, his hand forming a quick fist before pulling sharply back at the elbow toward his side. A second later a grinding rumbling sound made Don turn his head and he saw the stones of the back wall separating and swinging in, forming a small doorway that opened onto blackness.

“It’s a private entrance built for my family’s use, so we can come and go as we please. No one will see you leave.”

Don smiled warmly. “Thank you, Michelangelo.”

“Call me Mikey.” He corrected with a feigned grimace. “Only my father calls me Michelangelo.”

“Mikey...” Don said in a whisper, turning toward the opening in the rock.

Before he took more than a step, a hand reached out and wrapped around his elbow, pulling him back, sending a tingling shock shooting up and down his arm. He gasped as Mikey planted a determined kiss directly on the center of his cheek before dipping in to whisper in his ear.

“We’ll see you soon. Don’t be late.”

Don shivered and smiled gently, pulling his wrist free with his last ounce of strength. At the opening in the stone, he turned back for one last look.

Mikey was staring at him, open mouthed, his chest rising and falling with the effort to stay where he was, and Don sighed heavily before disappearing into the darkness.

The magic within him was simmering with displeasure almost insurmountable as he walked away, but even as it raged at his core, Donatello could tell that on some level it understood. Now was not the time or the place, and it only needed to wait a little while longer.

In two short months they would all finally be together. And maybe, if they were lucky, they would never need to be separated ever again.

~*~*~*~


	4. Aeolus, Kingdom of Air

~*~*~*~

****Four Weeks Later** **

__...one month before the Trials of Succession are scheduled to begin..._ _

~*~*~*~

Snow had been falling continuously for three straight days and Donatello was beginning to wonder if it was ever going to stop. It was annoying but not completely unfamiliar, during the fall and winter in Varuna the ground was often covered with snow and ice. The difference here was that the Kingdom of Aeolus was cold, far colder than he had anticipated, and no amount of reading in his textbooks had prepared him for the biting mountain wind that cut through to his skin no matter how many layers he wrapped around himself. And this was mid spring, he couldn’t imagine what this place must be like during the deepest part of winter.

The capital city was perched on a precipice in the shadows between two towering mountain tops. The royal family and nobility occupied the largest and most stable expanse of stone closest to the peaks, while the rest of the city stretched out down the cliff side. The rock itself had been carved out into large open areas packed full of homes and businesses stacked three to four stories on top of each other to fit as much into the limited spaces as was possible.

The cold was constant and sharp and if he was honest it made the city almost unlivable, he had to force himself to make the effort to find small things to like. He tried to see the people and places and architecture surrounding him as things that reminded him of his city and his people and his castle back home.

But this was not his home, and he didn’t need the cold to tell him that.

The unfortunate weather was not the only thing that made this place so miserable. There was a tension in the air, thick and heavy, that permeated the atmosphere, making his skin prickle with fear. And the longer he spent in this mountain kingdom the more he came to realize that the citizens of Aeolus lived their lives in an unending state of terror.

It wasn’t blatantly obvious, more like an itch on his shell that he couldn’t quite scratch, and he hadn’t even been certain of what he was sensing at first. It had only been a feeling, a disquiet about the place that left him uneasy whenever he had a conversation longer than five minutes with anyone.

Superficially everything appeared to be completely normal. The people of this quiet mountain city were honest and generous, they worked hard and loved their families, they took great pride in their accomplishments and never failed to help another that was in need.

But underneath all of that, hovering in the darkness just behind their eyes, was a deep unmistakable fear that kept them all shivering, huddled and exceedingly careful of not moving even a single step out of line.

With some poking around Don managed to piece a few facts together, using small tidbits of information gathered from innocent conversations. He discovered that it wasn’t a fear of famine or poverty or the invisible threat of illness that made these people toe the line.

It was the inescapable and unrelenting iron fist of the emperor.

To give Apelles credit, he was subtle in the way he had brought the citizens of Aeolus to their knees in front of him. Donatello might not have even noticed anything out of the ordinary if his own upbringing hadn’t made him keenly aware of the delicate relationship between a king and his people.

However, it was hard to pinpoint exactly what was wrong because the emperor wasn’t overt in the way he wielded his power. There were no spectacles of public execution or torture, no soldiers marching through the streets to enforce kingdom law.

It was quiet whispers of a cousin who had a friend that was arrested for stealing a loaf of bread and never seen again. It was a damaged balustrade in the palace and a stonemason who disappeared, only to reappear a month later in a small village on the border, begging for food, conspicuously missing both of his thumbs and his tongue. It was countless other stories all centered around the same theme, little more than mysterious rumor, like ghost stories used to frighten children. But it was enough.

After three weeks Don was sick in his heart and ready to go home. It was obvious to him now why Michelangelo had insisted he come here; this was something he wouldn’t have understood without seeing it with his own eyes.

But oh, how he wished it hadn’t been necessary. The constant tension in the air and the small suspicious looks on the faces of everyone he met was exhausting and unpleasant and it made him desperate for his lands and the love and acceptance of his own people.

He would have already left for home but before he could depart, he felt like there was one last question he needed to find the answer too, and that was the one thing that was proving to be Aeolus’s best kept secret, apparently.

The tavern where he was renting a room had a narrow but comfortable balcony attached to the front of the building where Don liked to sit during the afternoon to enjoy a warm drink. A massive stone fireplace took up half the front facade, built to provide comfortable warmth to the first and second floors both inside and outside.

The cozy perch overlooked the market square at the heart of the capital city. A half-acre carved into the mountain side filled with open stalls and tents selling everything imaginable from meats and grains to fresh produce as well as clothing and jewelry and household goods.

Small Olosfay bounced along the tops of the stalls, twittering in their high-pitched voices, their round fluffy white bodies barely distinguishable from the snow drifts they popped in and out of, the only thing that gave them away was the small black beads of their eyes. Occasionally one took a risk, tossing a ball of snow at an unaware passerby, earning a grunted curse or a peal of laughter from the target.

“Let’s see... ah there!”

Don eyed the old grey lizard sitting across from him, a tailor from higher up the mountain that catered to the nobility that lived there. He came down to the market district on occasion to ‘enjoy the delights of the lower class’ as he so haughtily put it. Usually that meant he would drink the day away inside a cheap brothel, but on this day, he seemed content to spend his hours losing badly at chess, which was working out to Don’s benefit if nothing else.

The tailor grinned as he moved his small pawn forward two spaces. Don slow-blinked, holding back a snicker as he reached forward to move his rook straight across the length of the board to capture it. “Checkmate.”

“What? Oh for... again?” The lizard huffed. “That’s four games now. Why am I even here if all you intend to do is rob me of my very last coin?”

“The ambiance?” Don chuckled, opening his hands to indicate the cozy balcony. “And the food.”

“Well, you have me there!” The lizard agreed, plucking a small tart off a nearby tray. “They do offer some of the best bites here.”

Don nodded, twisting around in his seat to grab a small bowl off a nearby table. “Have you tried these? There’s some type of fish in here I’m having trouble identifying, I think they’ve ground it up with the vegetables, but the breading is delicious with the sauce.”

The lizard sighed as he popped some of Don’s offering into his mouth. “It’s a crustacean from the lakes in the hills to the south, not fish. And yes, these are quite good, but not like they used to be.”

“Oh? What’s changed?” Don questioned, genuinely curious.

The lizard took another bite before answering, chewing around his words. “Many years ago, there was a special type of prawn that we would import directly from Varuna. It can only be found living in the bay of their capital city. Quite delicious. But... we haven’t been able to get any since the king closed the borders.”

Don held back a grimace, this wasn’t the first time he’d heard the people complain about items they used to be able to get from Varuna that they now missed.

“But hopefully that will be remedied soon.” The lizard continued. “The trials are almost upon us and I have a hefty sum riding on the prince of water.”

“A... hefty sum?” Don sputtered.

“Indeed! My broker has opened a pool on the chance that Varuna’s prince is a no show at the trials. Ten to one we find out he died at some point after his birth.”

Don just stared at the lizard incredulously. Gambling in relation to the trials was a practice as old as the trials themselves and it shouldn’t have been a surprise that the wagers were centered around him this time around... but somehow it still was.

“I mean... if the prince was dead don’t you think there would have been an announcement or... something?” Don offered feebly.

“Possibly.” The lizard answered with an appraising look. “That’s why it’s called a bet I suppose. But personally, I have twenty gold pieces down that not only will the prince show his face, but he’s going to take the whole thing. He’s going to win the emperor’s crown back for the kingdom of water, mark my words.”

“You’re betting against your own prince?” Don asked in confusion.

The lizard just shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”

Don didn’t know what to say to that. The idea that a stranger was betting so much money on something Don himself was less than enthusiastic about participating in was making him uncomfortable.

There was also the implication in the lizard’s words that was making him uneasy. Why would any citizen of Aeolus, let alone one so directly connected to the noble class like this tailor, feel the need to bet against Leonardo?

It was a question he couldn’t answer because getting anyone in the kingdom of air to talk about the royal family was like pulling teeth.

Don had already pressed for information about the elusive prince as much as he dared without venturing too close to the royal palace, this place was dangerous, and he couldn’t risk being seen as anything more than a simple traveler. He had been as indirect as he could be, but every time he mentioned Leonardo’s name whoever he was talking to would quickly change the subject or make an excuse to leave. It was disheartening and frustrating and he had to admit he was getting nowhere.

In both Agni and Sucellus the people had been eager to gossip about the royals, like it was a game or a sport, but here even a whisper about them could clear a room. And Don didn’t like what that was suggesting about Leonardo’s character.

If the emperor were truly as ruthless and uncaring as rumor implied, then wouldn’t that suggest that he would have raised his son to be of the same mind?

Mikey had mentioned Leonardo’s name with ease, like they were close friends, but that had only been during their brief moment in the garden. Would he have warned Don if there was something he should have been warned about? Would Mikey have even bothered to tell him if Leonardo was as aloof and unfeeling as his father appeared to be?

Donatello didn’t want to believe it, but so far, he had seen no evidence that Leonardo was anything more than the son of his father. The people never spoke of him, not even in whispers.

His companion tossed Don’s winnings from the game across the board and downed the last of the wine in his cup before reaching for a jug to pour himself more. ‘This is a good opportunity.’ Don thought. If the wine kept flowing, then he might be able to start asking questions that the old lizard wouldn’t run away from. It was worth the attempt at least, so he leaned forward and began resetting the game pieces for another match.

The market square was quiet for the time of day, the snow muffling most of the usual sounds, but there was still the soft rumble of murmured conversation broken by the occasional yell from one merchant or another trying to pull the attention of the crowd to his or her goods.

It was a soothing sound to Don, similar to the rushing swish of a flowing river, and reminded him of late nights deep in the wilds behind his castle, with only himself and the water and the sounds of the forest.

It was a lovely memory and for a moment he was so distracted by it that he barely noticed when the murmur of voices stopped, and a heavy silence fell over the market. The steady dripping splash of wine hitting the wooden floor under the table was the sound that finally brought his head up.

The lizard was frozen, his gaze locked on the street below them, pouring what was left in the jug into his overflowing cup.

With a frown Don turned his head to find everyone in the square looking off in the same direction, back toward the high stone archway that straddled the main road and marked the entrance to the market. When he finally saw what had caught their attention his eyes widened, a chill passing through him that had nothing to do with the frigid air.

Emperor Apelles strode up the cobblestone street, dressed in rich furs and heavy velvets, escorting an important looking noble that was hanging on the emperor’s every word as they walked. The air grew thick with silent panic, citizens in front of the two men rushing to clear the street, bowing low as they passed. The emperor and his guest were flanked by the elite palace guard and followed by an entourage that could only have been the nobles traveling party.

The balcony railing creaked under Don’s firm grip. Three weeks trying to glean any sliver of information he could from the leery populace and there he was, the emperor, just walking down the street like he did it every day.

He sucked in a quiet gasp and went completely still when the advancing group came closer to the tavern. Leonardo came into view walking behind his father, hands clasped behind his back. He was a full head shorter, which was why Don hadn’t seen him at first, but that did nothing to diminish his commanding stature.

Don could immediately sense the prince’s quiet confidence and was pleasantly surprised by how handsome he was. ‘He must take after his mother’, Don thought because he looked very little like his taller darker father. The pale blue embroidered band of cloth tied around his face perfectly complemented his leaf green skin and gentle hazel eyes.

Close behind Leonardo came the shuffling figure of a wizened old rat using a short piece of wood carved into the shape of a twisted funnel cloud to support him as he walked. Rats were an even rarer sight within the empire than humans were and without thinking Don sat forward, leaning just a little over the railing to get a better look. At his movement, the rat slowed almost imperceptibly and turned his head, looking directly up at Don with a steady, somewhat puzzled look. With a start, Don quickly shrunk down, turning his face so he couldn’t be seen.

Before he could decide if he should leave the balcony and find a more discreet viewing place, the sound of a slight commotion within the crowd directly below brought his head back above the railing. A visible wave rippled through the unmoving sea of people gathered, before separating at the street, releasing a small turtle youngling no more than three or four. She was chasing after a tiny bouncing rubber ball, her mother desperately swiping at the air behind her to stop her daughter from moving any further into the street.

The ball bounced with force directly toward the emperor, hitting his robes somewhere around his thigh before rolling off under a nearby stall table. A quiet gasp sounded in the frozen air as the girl balked before the ruler and he stopped swinging his head to look down at the child, an expression on his face that would cause anyone’s blood to run cold.

The girl’s mother dashed forward, sweeping her daughter up off the ground, bowing as low as the heavy bundle in her arms would allow. “Your Majesty... please forgive us... my daughter meant no harm... please...”

She spoke in a whisper that echoed in the silence. Don could feel her fear, could see it in the shaking of her arms and legs.

In a blink all trace of emotion disappeared from the emperor’s face. He looked down his snout at the woman and child, considering them carefully. “My dear woman, you and your child look dreadfully chilled, I see not a scrap of fur to warm your shoulders. Please allow me to improve that. Escort them to the palace.” He finished with a low growl, waving his hand toward the guard at his side.

Three things happened all at once. The guard moved instantly to comply, bearing down on the woman and child with a terrifyingly fast step. At that same moment a tall male turtle, only a few steps farther down the street, gave a desperate grunt and lunged forward, pushing against the bodies in front of him to make them move.

But before either of those two things came to their completion a strong, assertive voice rose above the gasping murmurs of the crowd, bringing all parties to a standstill.

“Father!” Leonardo stepped forward; determination set in his eyes. “After his long journey I am sure the marquis is eager to experience nothing more than the warmth of our hearth and a tall glass of whiskey. Do not concern yourself with this, allow me to... take care of them.”

Donatello couldn’t help but think that Leonardo almost sounded bored as he said it. The emperor turned to his son with a raised eye ridge, staring at him with an appraising look for a long moment before addressing the marquis.

“You see, Lord Coren. My son has always shown such eagerness to care for our citizens in my name. It is a skill that will serve him well in the future.”

The marquis nodded agreeably with a hungry gleam in his eye, never removing his adoring gaze from the emperor’s face. “Yes Majesty, you have raised him well.”

Leonardo stood, unmoving under his father’s heavy glare, waiting in an almost unconcerned way.

“Very well. Come Marquis, we have important matters to attend to.” The emperor leaned forward to place a hand on his son’s shoulder. “I expect a full report, Leonardo.”

“As you say, father.” Leonardo said, proudly holding his father’s eyes, before giving a small bow of his head.

The emperor turned and stalked away without hesitation, the marquis at his heels. Leonardo stood his ground in the center of the street as the rest of the nobleman’s party moved around him, quick to keep up with their departing liege. After a moment only the prince, the old rat and a few members of Leonardo’s personal guard were left. The silence in the square was deafening, broken only by the whistle of the wind.

Leonardo waited until his father was out of sight before turning to the young mother and her child, both now firmly wrapped in the strong arms of the tall turtle that had been trying so desperately to reach them before.

Donatello’s gaze shot back and forth between them, nervous about what the prince was about to do. He had a fleeting thought that he would step in to save the young family, his cover be damned, if the prince’s intentions turned insidious. But Leonardo only looked at the small family for a moment with an unreadable expression on his face before turning to the guard standing at his shoulder.

“Take them to the tower.” He ordered.

The guard nodded and motioned for the family to move. They followed without further complaint and passed through the crowd that quickly parted for them. The citizens gathered remained silent as Leonardo leaned over to listen to something the old rat was whispering in his ear.

A small frown drew down the prince’s brow as he looked toward the stall table where the small rubber ball had rolled to a stop. He brought his hand up, waving it through the air, calling a twisting funnel of wind to lift the ball from the ground and bring it gently into his fingers.

Quickly pocketing the toy, he left, striding after his guard and the family that had caused so much trouble.

Without a word to his lizard companion or even a thought for what he might think, Don shot out of his chair and dashed inside the tavern, descending the stairs two at a time before almost crashing through a side door.

The tower could only be one place. There was a large storage warehouse near one end of the main road on this level of the city, and attached to it was a massive guard tower, used to watch the ascending road and process paperwork for incoming traders and merchants.

Don moved as quickly as he could through the stalls and shops, trying not to draw attention to himself in his haste, managing to reach the tower just as the young family was being escorted into the adjoining warehouse by the guard.

Unseen, he slipped around the back and found a small service door that led into an office. By pure luck there was no one inside and he stood silent in the dark for a moment to get his bearings. The room had four walls but no ceiling, it was open above him all the way up to the roof of the warehouse overhead. In one corner there was a ladder that scaled the wall, leading up to a loft of some sort that looked to be filled with large boxes.

Don climbed it quickly, making sure to stay behind the largest crates. He could see the entire length of the warehouse from this perch. The long space half filled with shipped containers and crates and trunks of all sizes, all marked with various painted symbols and slips of parchment.

A maze of paths led through the boxes toward the front of the building where the clutter cleared out and formed an open space where Don could see Leonardo’s guard standing near the main doors with the young family huddled near him, the husband whispering frantically to his wife.

A short second later the main door slid open, Leonardo and the rest of his guard stepping inside. Two of the soldiers wasted no time moving through the warehouse to check behind boxes and crates. Don held his breath, completely frozen in place, counting on just a bit more of that luck to keep them from looking in the loft.

Don could only just hear the prince speaking to his guard, their voices soft and muffled, but it would have to do, he didn’t dare move any closer. The roving guards would see him and there was the very real risk of Leonardo sensing his magic. He was safest staying where he was hidden. Michelangelo hadn’t felt his power until they were separated by only a thin screen door, so it was unlikely Leonardo would know he was there if he kept his distance and stayed perfectly still.

The guards sweeping the warehouse returned and Leonardo tensed, his fists clenching at his sides. “Were we followed?”

Confidently the guards shook their heads and the prince’s shoulders visibly relaxed, his features softening like he had removed a mask.

He turned and gave the young mother an encouraging smile before approaching with his gaze on the youngling still held tightly in her arms. The child looked at him with wide eyes filled with more wonder than fear.

“You need to be more careful, little one. The emperor does not play games.” Leonardo said it sternly, but Don could see the hint of a smile on his face as he extended his hand, waiting as the little girl carefully took the ball from his fingers.

“Thank you, Pwince Leonardo.” She said quietly, before burying her face in her mother’s neck.

“Thank you... thank you.” The mother gasped, a tear rolling down her cheek.

Deepest regret filled Leonardo’s eyes as he looked at the frightened woman. “There is no need to thank me, it shouldn’t have to be this way.”

The husband clutched his wife and child to him, like he was afraid they would disappear if he let go. He looked at the prince with relieved tears in his eyes. “Your Highness... we can never repay your kindness...”

Leonardo grimaced and turned to the guard at his side, who placed a small coin pouch into the prince’s waiting hand. He then firmly deposited the gift into the husband's trembling fingers. “There is nothing to repay. But you cannot remain here, my father does not forget the faces of those that wrong him, and it would be best if he did not see yours again. This should be enough to help you find your way.”

The husband looked at the coin pouch in shock, understanding coming slowly to him. He nodded with a shaky breath and a bow, uncertainty shining in his eyes.

The prince made a silent order to his guard and they moved to the side, toward a large, dusty, weather-stained crate. It took three of them pushing it to move its weight, revealing a small hidden door, built into the floor underneath it.

“My captain will escort you out of the city and provide as many supplies as we can spare.” Leonardo said regretfully. “I am sorry that I can’t allow you to return to your home. Are there any messages you would like to leave for family or friends?

The young mother sniffed through her tears. “My father. He lives alone... my mother passed last summer. He can’t walk as easily as he used to...”

She broke down crying, unable to continue speaking, and Leonardo stepped in, laying a comforting hand on her shell while passing a small piece of parchment to her husband. “Give me his name, I will make sure he is looked after. And please know, it is my sincere hope that you will be able to return before the end of the summer... if things go well.”

“Thank you, Your Highness. We understand.”

The husband stared at the parchment in his hand with an empty look before scribbling a name, then he gently took his wife by her shoulders and steered her toward the opening in the floor, following the captain down into the gloom. Once they were gone, the remaining soldiers moved the crate back into its original place, carefully erasing any signs that it had been disturbed at all.

Leonardo watched the young family go, and Donatello watched him. The prince had saved them from the wrath of his father, at great risk to himself Don was sure, yet he had done it so swiftly and easily with hardly any effort, like this was something he did all the time, and from what Don already knew of Aeolus he shuddered to think that it likely was.

But the heartache of that unfortunate reality was not the only thing that captured Don’s attention. He had watched the young family carefully, and beneath their fear and confusion he saw something else burning brightly in their eyes. Love and adoration and hope... yes, above it all was bright, shining hope.

They expected Leonardo to save them all.

The faces of the crowd gathered in front of the tavern told the same story, Don realized. Every soul present had remained quiet as the young family was led away, there was no murmured conversation, no one stepping forward to beg for leniency on their behalf. They had known what Leonardo’s intentions were and had remained completely subservient to not raise the emperor’s suspicions. They were protecting Leonardo, just as much as he was protecting them.

The prince stared at the weathered crate for a long moment before he sighed and motioned for his remaining guard to follow him, disappearing through a side door that led into the adjacent tower.

It was a testament to his skill that his father seemed completely unaware of Leonardo’s efforts and what just happened had given Don a lot to think about. The already dire situation laying heavy atop the kingdom of Aeolus just became immensely more complicated and Don wasn’t sure what, if anything, could be done about it.

Don waited a few moments longer, listening carefully until he was completely sure he was alone in the warehouse, then he climbed down from the loft back into the dark office, releasing his held breath as he turned and stopped dead in his tracks.

A hunched, dark shadow, backlit by the late afternoon light from outside blocked the doorway. Don felt his heart stutter in his chest as he froze. He should have been expecting this, and on some level, he realized he wasn’t actually all that surprised, his track record being what it was, but he still tensed defensively.

The features of his face were masked by the shadows, but even so it was easy to recognize the wizened old rat that had been following Leonardo so closely. He said nothing and made no movement, watching Don take stock of the situation with shrewdly glittering eyes.

Don considered his options carefully. He could scurry back up to the loft and try to find his escape by retreating through the main warehouse, but this rat might yell for the guard before he took two steps and fighting for his freedom was the last thing he needed right now. It seemed that his only real option was to try and talk his way out.

“Let me pass.” Don said with as much confidence as he could muster. But the rat only blinked at him with a small smile, his whiskers twitching like he was holding back a laugh, so after a moment Don tried again. “I’m not looking for trouble...”

“What are you looking for then?” The rat asked quietly.

“Nothing... information.” Don answered simply.

“The prince may believe otherwise I fear.” His grey fur was vibrating as he chuckled.

“I mean him no harm.”

“I know. That is why I have not yet alerted him to your presence.”

The rat considered him with an unconcerned air, staring at him so pointedly it made Don uncomfortable, like his dark eyes were boring straight into the center of his soul.

“You look so much like your father when he was your age.” The old rat finally offered. “Tell me, how is Archus? It has been too many long years.”

Donatello felt his blood turn to ice as he tried not to let his surprise show on his face. This rat had known his father and recognized him because of it. That was unexpected but in truth almost irrelevant now and he didn’t have time for distractions. The longer he stayed in one place here, the more the risk grew that Leonardo would feel his presence and search him out.

“Please,” Don pleaded, dodging the question. “Just let me pass. I’ll leave quietly, but I need to go before the prince senses my...”

“He will not.” The rat cut him off. “I am blocking his perception of you.”

“Blocking his...? You can... do that?”

“Your awareness of each other is unique within each generation. Isolating the magical frequency that identifies each of you and masking it is a skill I have spent my life mastering. Did you not wonder why you cannot sense your father in the same way you can Leonardo, or young Michelangelo?”

“I... yes I had wondered that, actually.” Don conceded. “It’s something I’ve planned to look into when I... find the time.”

“I imagine there is much information that you have been denied. Many things that would have made your journey far easier. Or perhaps entirely unnecessary.” The rat smiled sympathetically, his gaze knowing as he gave Donatello an appraising look.

Another silence filled the space between them, Don locked in place by his kind, venerable gaze. He was still confused but the tension in his shoulders was beginning to lessen and as the seconds passed, he found that he didn’t feel the need to question why this rat had decided to share his thoughts so openly with him, the answer was obvious within the dark pools that held him.

Perhaps he should have felt fear for himself and his perilous position in this strange land where he was an outsider, but it was clear that there was only warm acceptance and understanding being offered and somehow Don simply knew that he had nothing to fear from this gentle master.

Don cleared his throat with an apologetic smile. “Well, if you’re not going to turn me in then I suppose I owe you my thanks, um... what should I call you?”

“You may call me Splinter.” The rat replied, turning to look back over his shoulder as he stepped outside. “Please, come with me.”

Donatello followed obediently; his lack of hesitation only mildly surprising as his feet moved before he even had a chance to think about it. He trailed behind the rat shuffling toward the front of the warehouse, watching his long brown tail swish across the snow.

When they reached the front of the building Splinter stopped and invited Don to stand next to him as he stared out at the open square beyond, leaning heavily on his walking stick.

Looking out past the corner of the building Don’s eyes immediately fell on Leonardo only a dozen feet away and his heart almost skipped a beat. Perhaps it was true that the rat was blocking Leonardo’s ability to sense Don, but obviously the old master was not doing the same for him. He held his breath as he observed the prince of air, feeling the pull of his magic, pulsing and warm, and it filled Don with an urgent longing so suddenly that he needed to grip the brick wall beside him to stop his feet from carrying him into the square.

The setting sun cast a glow over the crowd gathered but the prince of air stood out from all of them, his head held high with a confident smile, welcoming the citizens gathering close as he stepped out among them.

They moved around him with smiles and murmured thanks, soft touches to his hands and his arms. And he moved with them, listening to each person that spoke to him, showing concern for their troubles and happiness for their excitements. He engaged with them in every way that a seasoned ruler should, and with a start Don realized that his life and Leonardo’s were in some ways so very similar and that perhaps the two of them were really not all that different after all.

“They believe he will release them from their suffering, when he ascends to the throne.” Splinter spoke quietly almost directly into his ear, drawing Don’s attention back to him.

The rat smiled without turning his head, watching Leonardo walk away. “He has given so much of himself carefully shielding them from the emperor’s whims whenever and wherever he can. They see him as their salvation and will protect him with their very lives.”

Following the rat’s gaze Don’s eyes softened with understanding. “He is nothing like his father.”

“No.” Splinter said proudly, raising his chin. “But Apelles is formidable and cunning and is quite happy where he sits. Leonardo... all of you... face a battle far more dire than I think any of you are prepared for.”

Donatello let the implication of that statement sink in. The very idea of what this old rat was inferring was almost too fantastical to even consider and, if it should become a reality, would shake the foundations of their society to its very core.

Splinter was watching him closely, making sure he understood. The Trials of Succession were more than just a test, they were also a rite of passage, allowing the current kings to step aside gracefully while passing on their rule to their first-born heirs. It was a system that each of the royal families had proudly honored ever since their ancient ancestors were gifted the powers over the elements by the elemental spirits centuries ago.

It was the way it had always been.

This was something far larger than himself, the four of them, or even the trials themselves, and Don frowned, unsure what exactly it was this old rat expected them to do. If the emperor dared to attempt what Splinter was suggesting he might, would the four of them coming together as a united force even be enough to stop him?

Four complete strangers, standing together as one. He shivered, realizing that finding common ground with them was more important now than it had ever been before. He couldn’t fail, not now that he was aware of what exactly was at stake.

Frigid air filled his lungs as he sucked in a deep breath and nodded.

The rat graced him with a relieved smile. “You should return home, Prince of Water. It is not safe for you here and I am sure your kingdom needs you far more than this one does. Please give your father my warmest regards.”

Splinter walked away without waiting for an answer, leaving Don to stare after him with the weight of the world resting on his shoulders.

Yes, it was definitely time for him to go home.

~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading and for all the lovely comments and kudos! <3  
> Please don't hesitate to leave a comment, I love hearing from my readers and I don't bite! I promise! ^.^


	5. Varuna, Kingdom of Water

~*~*~*~

**Three Weeks Later**

_...five days before the Trials of Succession are scheduled to begin..._

~*~*~*~

The blanket of dew was wet against his toes as Donatello walked across the garden toward a hunched figure moving slowly through the flower boxes. He kept the sun rising from behind the mountains behind him to allow it to warm his shoulders pleasantly in a familiar way that he had dearly missed.

Six months spent traveling through the other kingdoms had been eye opening and well worth the effort, but he was more than happy to be home. He breathed deeply of the salty air, basking in the scent and the feel of it on his skin. The winter chill it usually carried was gone, hinting at summer days that were not too far away. If only he had more time to enjoy it.

He had arrived home from Aeolus with only ten days to spare. The heavy snow having caused a landslide that blocked his path off the mountain for almost a full week before they were able to clear it. The incident forced him to ride his precious mare as hard as he dared push her to make it back to Varuna in time.

When he finally reached the rolling hills he recognized as his own, he had to carefully sneak back across the border in the dead of night, making a mental note to talk to his border guard about the lack of patrols, before gratefully returning to the comfort of his own bed.

The next morning had been the worst part. After only a few hours of sleep he dragged himself out of bed to greet the shocked faces of his advisors and priests as they gathered for breakfast. When they were finally able to lift their jaws out of their bowls of porridge there had been a lot of shouting and lecturing and questions and Don never did get to eat.

The truth was, he felt almost no remorse for what he had done, but they were scolding him for an exceptionally long time and eventually Don couldn’t help but feel just a small amount of guilt. He should not have stayed away so long. Now there was little time for him to enjoy the peace and comfort of familiar surroundings.

“Good morning, Papa.” He called, knowing he would receive no response, but still hoping for it all the same.

The shuffling form of King Archus continued to dig around the flowers, seemingly unaware of the world around him as he lowly murmured to himself. He walked with a limp, a sturdy, tapered cylinder of wood strapped to his knee where the lower half of his right leg had once been, his rocky gait causing the plush royal robes draped over his shell to swish around his feet as he moved.

With a patient smile, Don sat on an overturned old bucket and watched his father work while quietly taking in the view.

His city stretched out below the garden, from the castle all the way to the bay. A peaceful scene of stone and brick buildings with thatched roofs and gently smoking hearth stacks that drew the eyes all the way down to the water.

The Kingdom of Varuna was bordered by the western ocean and surrounded by gently sloped mountain hillsides covered with old growth evergreens and oaks that created a thick forested barrier, shutting out the rest of the continent and keeping them concealed and safe in their harbor.

This secluded cove where his ancestors had built the capital city was a fertile valley, nourished by clear spring water that flowed in multiple small rivers down from the mountains. It offered a stable environment for a wide variety of crops with the bounty of the sea providing the rest of what they needed to thrive. Varuna’s skilled and weathered fishermen had always been the most elite seafarers in the empire.

Most of the kingdom beyond the mountain hills was swamp and marshlands, where only the sturdiest of Varuna’s citizens had been able to build their lives, scraping out their livelihoods by producing baskets and bags fashioned from stiff long bladed swamp grass, and by selling pottery and tools expertly fired from the thick mineral rich clay that lay abundant under the marsh pools.

When the borders were closed, not long after the last Trials of Succession concluded, all trade with the world beyond their valley was forbidden, commerce came to a standstill, and the fallout had been extremely hard on every citizen of Varuna and their way of life.

It had taken much struggle and hardship, but the people eventually adapted, day to day life went on, and Donatello was eternally proud of the relentless, unbendable nature of his people and the way they were able to flourish in the face of adversity.

Don brought his attention back to the garden and his father, bent over a bed of lilies only a few feet away. He had missed these quiet moments and wished this one could last just a bit longer, knowing he only had a scant few hours left to enjoy it before he needed to leave once again.

“The trials begin soon. I know I only just returned but... I need to leave by midday.” Donatello spoke more for himself than anything else.

Conversations with his father were often one sided, but Don never, not even for a moment, wanted the old turtle to think that he was being excluded from what was happening around him.

Archus moved from flower box to flower box, pulling weeds, stimulating the soil, drawing water from aqueducts at his feet with small flicks of his fingers to refresh the colorful groups of blooms. He reached a box close to where Don sat and plucked a stem gently between his fingers. Eyes locked on the flower, he hobbled over and reached for his son.

Don held out his hand expectantly as Archus laid a small lavender daisy in his palm, closely studying his father’s scarred face.

“Petals scatter on the wind, floating through the mist...” The king murmured quietly.

Don closed his fingers around the stem with a loving smile. “Thank you, Papa. I’ll be home soon, and April will be here to keep you company while I’m gone.”

If the old turtle understood what Don was saying to him, he made no indication, he simply turned away and shuffled back to his flowers.

Don rose to leave, slipping the lavender daisy through a buttonhole on the front of his tunic. His father had his own way of showing affection and it was rare to see him make the effort. Being the focus of his attentions for even a moment was something Don never took for granted.

He turned to find April waiting for him at the garden gates. She was tall and beautiful in a pale green gown that brushed the grass at her feet, and confident in her right to be where she stood.

Humans were not a common sight in the empire, most having moved into the terrapin kingdoms as inexpensive labor, scrimping out an existence with other immigrants of varying species. April was luckier than most however, by being the daughter of his mother’s favorite handmaid, and because Donatello had no brothers or sisters, the queen happily indulged his friendship with her handmaid’s child. The two were brought up together almost as if they were siblings.

After his mother’s death, Don made sure that April and her mother were allowed to remain with him in the castle, unable to face his grief or his future without his best friend. He didn’t know how he would have made it through his childhood without April, so it was only natural when he came of age that he chose the human girl with the flaming red hair as his closest advisor.

His nobility had momentarily resisted her appointment, no kingdom in the empire had ever assigned a human to the position of royal advisor before, but Donatello put his foot down on the matter and the objections died out quickly. April had always been liked and her warm and clever personality, along with her obvious close friendship with Don, won the naysayers over quickly and completely.

As he approached, she looked past him to watch the old king for a moment. “He seems happy today.”

Don released a sad sigh and looked back. “Yes.”

“What did he say?”

“I don’t know.” Don replied. “Something about petals in the mist. Just his usual gibberish.”

April nodded, smiling sadly for only a moment before shaking her head to banish the mood. She raised her hand to brush her fingers lightly along the purple fabric resting against his face. “How does it feel being yourself again?”

“Feels good. I only wish my real life could be as simple as it was when I was no one important.” He answered wistfully.

“But whatever would you do with yourself if you were no one important?”

“Are you kidding?” Don laughed. “So many things. Think of all the time I would have for study and all of my half-finished projects. This place is falling apart around us, and I could change so much if I only had the time.”

He made a wide gesture at the castle that was his ancestral home as they walked inside. Built from granite blocks quarried from the mountains that marked part of the border between Varuna and Aeolus, the building was a magnificent feat of architecture.

Don’s complaint was only half hearted though, the structure was antiquated and romantic, with thick moss and ivy growing over almost every inch of stone that saw the sunlight, and even though he sometimes bemoaned the upkeep its gothic towers were comforting in a way only home could be and he truly felt there was no grander structure anywhere in the empire.

April bumped against his arm as they moved deeper into the castle. “Everything is being prepared for you to leave at midday and, if you have a moment, I have a small stack of very exciting papers that need your signature.”

“Great.” Rolling his eyes Donatello took her arm and threaded it through his, turning them down a side hall that led to the throne room.

“Oh, I suppose I should warn you. High Priest Adva has been looking for you this morning.”

Don groaned, quickly looking up and down the hallway for any sign that the priest might be lying in wait. “I know what he wants, and that is the one thing I will not be thinking about until after the trials.”

“It’s like he’s possessed, I’ve never seen him so focused.” April warned. “And you being gone for so long has only added fuel to his obsession. He insists you must choose a bride before the trials begin.”

“And I insist I will not!” Don said with frustration. “I won’t just choose some random noble girl to marry. It’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair to me.”

April gave his arm a soothing pat. “Of course, I agree with you, Donnie. I just thought you should know to be on the lookout for him. At breakfast this morning he proclaimed that he would not let you leave today without witnessing you make a choice.”

“Well, he is going to be very disappointed then.” Don grumbled.

The priest had spent the better part of the last two years aggressively trying to push Don into marriage, bringing every young noble girl in the kingdom before him, expecting him to just pick one as easily as he might pick his clothes for the day.

Don had refused them all because it didn’t seem like such an unreasonable request to want to get to know someone, maybe even grow close to someone, before choosing to spend the rest of his life bound to them.

They entered the throne room; a long, grand hall with towering columns and a wall of stained glass in a hundred different shades of blue and purple, depicting raindrops and rivers and mountain lakes and the shining sea, that bathed the room in diffused, cool light.

At the far end was a six stepped dais, holding two thrones for the king and queen, made from ancient oak harvested from the forests surrounding the castle and carved to resemble crashing ocean waves offering an impressive representation of the power the royal family was honored to wield.

But the two didn’t stop to give the display a second glance, moving to the back corner and slipping through a small door partially hidden behind a tapestry. It led to a moderately sized room that Don had turned into a personal space for himself with a small library, a few couches and a desk.

“Maybe we should just tell him that you plan to marry me,” April continued with a sly grin as she shut the door behind her. “It would be quite entertaining to watch his head pop off and roll out of the room.”

Don stared at her wide eyed for a second before they both snorted with laughter.

They took a few moments to enjoy the mental image of the high priest stumbling around without his head, but soon April leveled him with a serious look. “You do need to do something about it soon though. You’re expected to produce an heir within the year.”

“I know, I know. I just... have so many other priorities right now.” Don replied, gesturing broadly at the desktop covered with official paperwork.

“Yes, yes, I know.” April said, motioning for him to sit and Don was thankful that she seemed to be dropping the matter.

She pulled a stack of papers from the corner of the desk toward her and handed the top one to Don. “This is from the Fisher’s Union. They are requesting an extra unit of guards be stationed at the docks after nightfall.”

“Why?” Don asked, quickly reading the request.

“Well, they won’t exactly say, you know how tight knit they are.” April replied, shaking her head. “But I’ve been hearing whispers from the staff that the union is struggling to fill orders from the royal kitchens. From what I can gather, they place their daily catch in the cold houses at the end of the day and in the morning half of it is gone. Especially the shark fins...” She finished with emphasis.

Don frowned. “That’s concerning... they can have the guard of course, but I want Tiabora to go down there this afternoon and open an investigation. Do we still have that contact from the...?”

“Yes, and I’ve already asked. He says the items have been showing up on the black market for a couple of weeks now.”

He signed the paper, handing it back to April with a grimace. “We need to get this under control before the trials start. I will not allow them to take advantage of good people simply because most of them haven’t seen beyond the borders of this kingdom in twenty-five years.”

The black market had been a major problem within Varuna in the years after the borders closed with one particular group of unscrupulous lowlifes using the opportunity to squeeze every last copper out of the poor public that was desperately trying to adjust to their new way of life.

When Don was finally old enough to understand how his people were struggling to make ends meet, he quickly put a stop to the price gouging, but he chose to not shut down the black market completely.

The citizens of Varuna had grown too dependent on it as the only way they could get their hands on some of the more obscure items that came from the other kingdoms. So instead, he quietly assigned one of his most trusted nobles to manage the day-to-day operations of the market while keeping its existence a well-known but unspoken secret.

“Majesty? ... are you in here?” A soft knock on the door preceded the voice and a small, uniformed turtle entered the room.

“Yes, Tiabora, what is it?” Don answered, not looking up from signing the final paper April had handed him.

The captain of Donatello’s royal guard came fully into the room, standing at attention before his desk. She was young, only a year older than Don, but he couldn’t imagine anyone more qualified to command his fleet.

“Word from along the border sir.” She began with a high pitched but strong voice. “My men report an increase in traffic they’ve had to turn back at the crossings. More than just traders hoping to slip past them now. There are lines that stretch for a mile and I have no idea what they think they’re doing. Sightseeing, or… I don’t know. My men are trying to find out why they’re suddenly coming in droves like they think the border is open again.”

“Well, I’m sure they...” Don started to answer but the young captain continued to speak like she hadn’t heard him at all.

“And there are whispers from down by the docks about a scheme being run through the black market. It seems that the Indigo Guild may be trying to take back their foothold, which is ridiculous because soon the borders will be reopened anyway, right? We won’t even need the market for much longer.”

“Yes, we were just talking about...”

“Also, there’s a small problem with the marsh workers. I know you’ve said you’re done with them, and I agree, it’s completely unreasonable for them to behave like this, but they’re getting strangely aggressive and I just don’t know if my men can continue to keep them occupied.”

“I understand, but I really don’t have the time to...”

“You should know as well that Master Gursel stops by every morning asking about the scheduling for your sitting. He seems a bit crushed that he wasn’t able to start work on your portrait sooner and says there’s no hope for it to be ready by the coronation, but he insists if you go to him immediately after the trials are over, he can have it completed by...”

“Tiabora!” Donatello said forcefully, rising to his feet to get her attention. She immediately straightened, her mouth snapping shut, and Don swallowed his guilt. Tiabora was all energy and drive and enthusiastic determination. It made her an excellent captain, but exhausting company.

“Thank you.” He continued with a softer tone. “You know how much I appreciate your diligence but I’m afraid I just don’t have the time to deal with these things right now. I have to get ready to leave and I...”

“Oh! That’s why I came in here!” Tiabora almost shouted. “Adva is coming this way.”

“What?!” April squeaked, spinning on her heels to look at the door.

“Yes, sorry!” The captain said sheepishly to Donatello. “I saw him stalking off toward the greenhouses shouting your name, and when he doesn’t find you there, I suspect he will come directly here.”

Don groaned with frustration and April quickly crossed the room to the bookshelves, pulling on the third book from the left on the second shelf and stepping back as a small panel swung open revealing a dark passageway.

A cool breeze escaped out of the secret opening and Don took a step toward it just as they all heard the growling deep voice of the high priest bellowing Donatello’s name from the throne room.

“Tiabora,” Don breathed. “I don’t deserve you, and I don’t know what I would do without you.”

“Oh, don’t be silly.” She said with an embarrassed wave. “Go on, quick! I’ll distract him... somehow.”

Don and April didn’t wait to watch her slip back through the door into the throne room. They entered the dark passage and April pulled the bookshelf closed behind them, swiftly moving forward through complete blackness. Thankfully, the passage was short and all they needed to do was trail their hands along the walls to keep their bearings.

Within a couple of minutes, they reached the end, listening closely at a second secret door for a moment, before slowly opening it and peeking into the hall beyond. It was empty and silent except for the soft chirping of birds just outside the windows.

“Well, that was close.” April laughed as the door sealed shut behind them, concealed behind a ten-foot-tall portrait of one of Don’s ancestors.

“This worked out well though.” Don answered as he looked around. “I had already planned on coming down this way today.”

April looked at him quizzically, but Don didn’t elaborate. He just offered her his arm again and began walking.

He led them into a rarely used area of the castle where the carpets were a little more thread bare, the windowsills dusty and dull. April didn’t question his path, suspecting that this was about more than just trying to avoid the high priest.

Sunlight glinted through the stained-glass windows lining the hall, shining on the walls with every color of the rainbow, making a natural tapestry on the time worn stone. The silence was thick here, the halls empty of the normal bustle of servants and tradesmen that could be found in the rest of the castle.

There was no sign of surprise on April’s face when Don stopped in front of a pair of large mahogany double doors, the wood carved into images of towering waves and flowing streams, the once lustrous silver handles tarnished with age.

“The king’s study?” She asked, but it wasn’t really a question, she knew why he had brought them to this room.

“It’s the only place I haven’t looked. And this is my last chance.” He answered solemnly, eyes locked on the doors. “If it isn’t here... then it isn’t anywhere.”

April took a step back, watching his face but making no move to stop him as he pulled a small silver key from his pocket. The click of the lock echoed in the quiet space.

The door stuck a bit, and Don had to put his full weight behind a shove to get it open, the hinges creaking as they swung inward. They both held their breath as they stepped inside.

Not a soul had been inside this room in probably fifteen years and it was preserved like a moment in time. Donatello moved slowly into the space, the carpet plush and soft under his feet. Books taken from the tall shelves on either side of the room had been left scattered on side tables and chairs, ready to be picked up to read again where they had been left off. The far end of the room was filled by a commanding desk of pine and oak, papers and correspondence left unfinished where they had been lain, waiting for the king to return.

An immense sadness overcame Don as he looked about the room. He could almost envision what his father might look like sitting in the wing backed chair, hands folded on the wood in front of him, or reclining on one of the plush couches, a book open in his hands. The ghosts of what might have been mocked him in the cheerful light streaming through the large windows on the back wall.

April was quiet as she padded up to the desk, her fingers gently brushing over a gilded clock on its edge, its hands long since stopped ticking. She turned to him with concern in her eyes.

“Are you sure?” She asked. “You may not like what you find.”

Don drew himself up with determination. “Doesn’t matter. I have to know.”

He turned, spotting two large basins atop stone pillars on either side of the doors they had just passed through, filled with fresh clear water. The castle was fed by an aqueduct system of pipes, installed centuries ago to provide water to every room for the use of the royal family.

Don strode to one and looked down into the shallow bowl. With only a moment's pause he reached his hand out over the pool and with a practiced flick of his fingers, drew a small orb of water up to hover over his hand.

Moving to the center of the room with the sphere, he brought his arms up in front of his body, both hands carefully moving the water, stretching and pulling it until the liquid was a flat rectangle hovering before him, like a window.

He held it steady as he moved in a slow circle, watching closely for the slightest change on its gently wavering surface.

Nothing happened as he passed over the desk, looking through it to see April against a far wall, respectfully moved out of his way. He took his time, carefully scanning each section of the room, not wanting to risk missing even the slightest flicker. By the time he had made an almost full circuit of the space with no difference to be seen, his breath was faltering, and he fought against a heavy wave of disappointment that threatened to wash over him.

Just as he was ready to accept that there was maybe nothing to be seen, he passed over one of the larger couches and his heart stopped. He jerked to a sudden halt as the surface of the water rippled between his palms, figures forming in the glassy window. There was no color, they were formed of the water itself, flowing and clear, but recognizable to Don’s trained eye.

The water showed him an injured turtle lying on the couch, Don knew his father’s face even if it was twenty-five years younger and half covered with thick bandages wrapped around his temple.

The stump of Archus’s leg was lifted on a pillow, also wrapped in heavy plain cloth, his thick wooden crutch lying on the floor, under the feet of the figure of Donatello’s grandfather, perched on the side of the couch as he clutched his son’s hand in his.

Don’s breath caught in his throat. His grandfather, King Torlan, who had died of the same fever that had taken his mother, looked tall and strong as he sat by his son, just as Don remembered him to be. He was momentarily overcome by an intense longing, the thoughts of what might have been different had the former king not died so young, filling Don with such aching remorse that he almost dropped the water he held.

Don took a deep breath and steadied his arms as the sound of voices drifted to his ears, muffled like a gurgling brook. This would be the only time the water would deign to show him this echo, this moment in time, and he stood completely stiff and still, listening carefully.

~*~

_“My son, how are you feeling today?”_

_“I’m fine father.” Archus answered in a huff. “I wish everyone would stop coddling me like a youngling.”_

_“We only wish for you to return to health as quickly as possible. If you aren’t careful you could cause more injury.”_

_“Yes, I know.” Came the short, impatient reply. “Can I at least sit up? I’ve been lying flat on my shell for a month now.”_

_The former king chuckled and helped his son into a more comfortable position. When he was settled, they sat and looked at each other for a quiet moment._

_Finally, Torlan gave his son an affectionate smile. “I saw Dalora today. She is looking beautiful and rounder with each passing second. I believe she will soon give you a strong, healthy son.”_

_Archus didn’t answer, he only winced like he was in pain and looked away sharply._

_“What is it, my son? What troubles you? Are you not excited for the birth of your child?”_

_“Yes, I just...” Archus began, stopping for a moment with a deep frown, like he couldn’t find the words he needed. “I only... I need to protect them.”_

_“Protect them?” Torlan asked with confusion. “Protect them from what?”_

_“I don’t... I don’t know.” Archus answered, releasing a frustrated breath._

_Another silent pause followed his pained response. Torlan clenched and unclenched his fist as he struggled to understand his son’s cryptic words, finally settling on a heavy sigh when he could not._

_“Archus, I must confess, I asked to see you in here today for a greater reason than the simple pleasure of your company. I do not wish to cause you more discomfort, but we must talk about what happened that day.”_

_Don watched his father grimace and look away again, an intense pain flashing across his features as he sniffed and looked down at his hands. “I remember a few flashes, bits and pieces of memory, but they’re jumbled and broken. When I try to recall what happened I... I feel...”_

_Archus’s voice drifted, Donatello’s grandfather waiting patiently, nodding his encouragement. After a moment he continued in a quiet voice that Don strained to hear._

_“We were crossing the Bridge of Ascendancy. Kaimon and Theonis had gone on ahead to scout the far side. I was moving slowly, careful of the gaps in the planking. The fog was so thick I could barely see my own feet. Then...” He paused and shook his head with a frown._

_“It’s alright. Take your time.”_

_Archus folded his hands in his lap to hide the shaking that was starting to course through him._

_“I can’t... I see flashes of things in my dreams, but when I wake, they fade into nothing... there’s only a feeling of... emptiness left behind. I hear a voice whispering in my ear broken words, but none of it makes any sense and when I try to hold onto them, they slip away. I can see the bridge, and then there’s only a weightless nothing, like I’m floating in a bottomless pool...”_

_Don’s grandfather sighed and hung his head, emotion and confusion weighing down his words. “When the others arrived at the temple without you, I immediately sent out a search party. They found you on the canyon floor a mile downstream from the bridge. You were barely alive.”_

_“I failed you, father...” Archus said in a choked whisper._

_“No! No, my son. Do not think for a second...”_

~*~

The image in the water began to fade, the voices drifting away. Donatello took a staggering step forward with a low gasp, desperate to hold onto them for just a moment more, but there was nothing he could do to preserve them. There never was. The figures in the water disappeared back into the echoes and Don let the water drop from his hands to splash on the carpet at his feet, leaving him staring at an empty couch covered in nothing but dust.

At some point he became aware of April beside him, her hand on his elbow. He turned to her, blinking away the moisture in his eyes, taking strength from her smile.

“Are you alright?” She asked gently.

Don nodded, swallowing with a shudder. He looked around the room, the dusty memories within it cloying in his throat, and he felt suffocated. With a sudden jerk he spun and strode through the heavy doors, desperate to be anywhere but there. April rushed after him, sealing the room behind her.

When he finally felt the weight of the past lift from his shoulders and was able to breathe again, he found himself in a small courtyard just off of the dining hall usually reserved for smoking and after dinner drinks during official state dinners. The vines trailing down the stone walls were overgrown now, seeing as there hadn’t been any state dinners held in Varuna during Donatello’s lifetime. He made a mental note to have the gardeners come out and make the space presentable again.

April was sitting on the edge of the fountain in the center of the yard. An oversized Sandy Marlin carved from marble was arching atop a splashing wave with a stream of water pouring from its mouth into the basin below, filling the area with a pleasant gurgle.

Donatello looked at it like all the answers he sought could be found where the water splashed into the pool at its base.

“Those bandages...” April began after a long moment of silence. “A head injury...”

But she didn’t finish the thought; she didn’t need to. Don knew what she was hinting at and it already explained so much.

Donatello was never told much about the person his father had been before he was born or why he had suddenly changed so drastically. Rationally he knew that the adults in his life wanted to protect him from truths he was too young to understand, but for many years he was resentful that they were never honest with him, knowing that the answers to so many of the mysteries in his life died with the only ones who could reveal them.

He had been ten years old when the plague that took his mother and grandfather swept through the kingdom, killing just over two hundred before it was done. Archus was still mostly lucid then, his growing paranoia and strange behaviors well hidden from Don. But losing both his wife and father marked a turning point and after their deaths everything began to fall apart.

The king’s decline left the kingdom vulnerable and it was many years still before Donatello was grown enough to take on most of the abandoned royal responsibilities. Until that point his advisors and priests were always far too busy trying to hold Varuna together to answer Don’s questions, and afterward Don was too busy with his own duties to continue asking.

What he’d seen in the water was only a bit, a fragment of information and he had hoped there would have been more. He’d searched the entire castle, looked at the echoes in every room, this was the only time he had been shown his father or his grandfather, it must have been the only time they had ever spoken of the day that changed so much.

A soft, musical twittering came from behind April, barely audible over the splashing of the water and Don turned to look just as a Sindifay poked its tiny head above the surface of the pool.

The creature slipped out of the water continuing its song of gentle clicks and chirps, crossing the space between them to flutter down and perch on his shoulder. The fay looked at him raptly, its wings dripping with slow flutters; its clear, fluid body sparkling in the sunlight.

Don smiled at the small thing, raising his hand to stroke the fay’s crystalline cheek, whispering fondly. “Thank you, my friend.”

“Donnie? Talk to me. What are you thinking?” April asked.

“I need... more information.” He mused. “What happened to him? How did he obtain those injuries?” Don frowned as he started to pace, the sprite chirping as it was jostled. “Something happened out in those woods that changed the entire course of my life before I was even born, and I need to uncover the truth of it.”

The echo hadn’t been enough, but it had served to cement Donatello’s resolve. Now his only goal was to discover what happened to his father on that fateful day.

“It was most likely an accident.” April said carefully. “There may be little to discover. Are you prepared for that?”

Don stopped and looked at her. Ever the rational mind when Don started to sink too far into his thoughts.

“Maybe... but then why would he have exiled us here behind closed borders? And why would the others, Apelles and Kaimon and Theonis, why would they have allowed it without challenge.” Don gestured a little too frantically with his arms as he started to pace again. “They were supposed to be his friends, but they never once spoke out against it, never came here to find out what was wrong. They just let it happen.”

“There could be a thousand reasons why they stayed away... but I will admit, it is suspicious.” April assured, standing to place a steadying hand on his arm. The Sindifay twittered a soft song meant to soothe his rattled mind. “Just... try to keep an open mind. If you focus too much on one thing you may miss an important detail about something else.”

Don took a deep breath, looking at her a little sheepishly. “You’re right, I know. Thank you. I know I sometimes have blinders on when it comes to him.”

“That’s not such a bad thing. Just promise me you’re going to be careful.”

“Of course.” Don smiled, pulling her into a tight hug.

The fay on his shoulder suddenly trilled excitedly, sensing the lift in their spirits. It shot into the air, flying in a wide circle around their heads and splashing their faces with tiny drops of water. They both laughed as it happily gave one last chirp and flipped back into the fountain, disappearing into the rippling pool.

“That thing would ride around on your shoulder everywhere if it could.” April chuckled, wiping the moisture from her cheek.

It was true and Donatello wouldn’t have it any other way. That one particular Sindifay had taken a special liking to him when he was very small and ever since, whenever he was near any sufficiently steady source of water the sprite would appear, his tiny magical companion.

During his travels through the other kingdoms, it had shown up a handful of times, through whatever means it used to travel such long distances, checking in on him to make sure he was well.

Why it had chosen him, and how it managed to always know where he was, was a mystery only it could answer, but strangely enough Don never really felt like he needed to know the reasons for its intentions, even though finding the answers to many of life’s other mysteries was a constant obsession for him. When it came to his stalwart friend, he was simply happy to have its company.

He stayed near the fountain with April for a short while longer, speaking softly, but soon they parted so Don could see to a few last-minute duties that required his attention.

Amazingly, he was somehow able to completely avoid High Priest Adva, a small win for the day if nothing else. He was even able to get in an hour of training with his weapons master, thankful to work out some of the rust from his joints before his journey began.

But far too quickly the sun climbed to its highest point in the sky and Donatello found himself in the castle’s main courtyard, mounting his steadfast mare once more while Tiabora chattered at him about the contents of his saddle bags from the ground in her enthusiastic excitable speech.

April came forward, waving her away affectionately as she handed Don an extra blanket with an indulgent smile. “We have everything here well in hand and we will see you at the temple. Go. Be amazing. And bring us back a victory.”

Don chuckled, securing the blanket to the front of his saddle. “I will.”

He took a moment to look up at the reception balcony, high above the main doors that led into the castle. His father was standing there with his guard, looking up into the sky, seemingly unaware of where he was or of Donatello below him.

Beside him however was the rigid form of the high priest, glowering down at him with a face so red and a look so seething Don was surprised the priest hadn’t burst into flame. He offered an apologetic shrug that he hoped looked at least somewhat sincere, but Adva only sneered, spinning and storming off back into the castle with barely contained rage.

Donatello didn’t feel the least bit sorry about it.

His eyes lingered on his father for a long moment as the old king continued to blissfully gaze up into the clouds.

April’s face grew sober as her hand came to rest on his knee. “Don’t worry about him. I’ll keep him safe.”

Don looked down at her with gratitude. “I always worry about him.”

She stepped back to join the other members of his court gathered to wish him farewell. As he guided his mare through the castle gates Don looked back, realizing that the next time he passed through them he would be a crowned king. There would be no more secrets, nothing left to hide. The fog that had always obscured his future was clearing before his very eyes and he was as ready as he could possibly be.

A nervousness simmered just under his skin, anticipation bubbling to the surface as he rode on leaving his home behind him for the second time. Memories of three separate stolen moments, unexpected and electrifying flashed behind his eyes and with an energizing flutter in his belly he remembered that they would be waiting for him at the end of this road.

In just a few short days he would be seeing them again, for the first time.

~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Sorry the first part of this story has been a little slow, I had a lot of backstory I needed to lay out before moving into the meatier part of plot. But, things will be going forward now! In the next chapter our boys will all, finally, come together! <3


	6. A Long Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Meeting for the first time can be so awkward. Someone help these boys!

~*~*~*~

The path was faint, barely visible beneath the thick foliage covering the forest floor, the line of it buried under a blanket of peat moss and decaying leaves that muffled the sound of Raphael’s footsteps. He sniffed, the air smelling of earth and pine and the unmistakable odor of animal musk. This was a game trail, recently used he was sure, which meant there would be water nearby. The question was if it was the river he was searching for or not.

This place, at the moment an ancient forest, belonged to the elemental spirits, and their magic hung heavy in the air, changing and twisting the environment surrounding him to suit their own whims.

There were no maps of this region that he could have studied before coming here. The area was slightly different each time the trials were held, ensuring that the challenges would always be unique and unexpected. So, even if his father had told him what he remembered about his time spent here, it would not have done Raphael any good. He had been warned that this would be his first test and that patience was the key, but patience was never something he had been good at and now his limited supply of it was at its breaking point.

He needed to find his way to the first camp by dusk, or the trials would start without him and he would be disqualified, the only problem was that so far, he felt like he had spent the entire day walking in circles. Huffing in frustration he forced himself to keep moving, an entire lifetime of training had brought him to this moment, and he would not allow himself to fail simply because he got lost.

But this place wasn’t making it easy for him. Every tree, every bush, every leaf looked exactly the same and his skin itched with the tingle of magic. The forest was being tricky, trying its best to disorient him, but he knew how to play this game. He was a tracker and a large part of his training had been countless hours spent in the wilds with only a few meager supplies learning how to survive off the land. He would find his way through, he just needed an opening, something to point him in the right direction.

The sun was setting, he couldn’t see it through the thick canopy above him, but the quality of the light was enough to clue him in. A low growl escaped his throat knowing it would be easier to get his bearings if only he could see the mountain and the temple at its peak.

At the heart of the continent, where the borders of all four kingdoms met, rising above the mist that concealed the trial grounds from the outside world, was a trio of small mountains, barely taller than hills, and perched atop the tallest one was an ancient temple. The monks who lived there served the elemental spirits and dedicated their lives to the task of watching over and protecting the lands of the trials.

It was a simple and quiet life spent worshipping the elements and, on occasion, redirecting a passing traveler that wandered too close to the magical realm. Generally, the people gave the area a wide berth, the magic alone enough of a deterrent to keep them away. Sometimes, however, an adventurer or treasure seeker would venture too far into the area. The monks did their best, but they were few, and those poor souls that slipped past their notice were often never seen again, and those that were, often came back altered in mysterious ways.

The elemental spirits were fickle and unknowable, and these sacred lands were meant for the royal families alone. Others were only allowed safe passage during the final days of the trials, when the royals and their courts ascended to the temple to witness the coronations of their new kings.

An event that was in jeopardy of never happening if Raphael couldn’t find his way through this blasted wood.

Pushing away his frustration he stopped and closed his eyes, feeling the air brush over his skin. The quiet sounds of the forest filled his ears. A breeze rustling the leaves above his head caused the trunks of the trees to creak as they swayed back and forth. The thump thump thump of a woodpecker searching for its dinner sounded in the distance.

His focus reached out further from where he stood, sensing more than hearing the low grunts of the forest deer that used the path he was following. They were calm and far enough ahead to not be aware of him, their quiet snorts and huffs just barely covered by the almost silent rush of water. The river.

Eyes snapping open he took off down the trail once more. He was close, and he was almost out of time. A straight shot was all he needed, but the forest around him blurred as he jogged and he thought he could see the trees moving at the edges of his vision, jumping from side to side, yet when he turned his head, they were stationary. It would have been distracting if he didn’t already know it was more than just a trick of the light.

Before him loomed a massive old oak, golden rays from the evening sun slanting through its branches. He carefully scanned the ground, finding the barely visible trail curving around its base and his steps quickened as he followed, leaping over a gnarled root jutting up from the earth.

The moment he touched down on solid ground again a blinding light filled his vision, making him hiss through his teeth. Shielding his eyes against the glare as the light faded, he blinked in confusion at his surroundings. A clearing had suddenly appeared where there had only been trees before. The open sky above him was painted with the setting sun.

He spun suspiciously, eyeing the oak he had just passed. Thick hollyhock bushes grew at its base, stretching out along the edge of the clearing, blocking off the path he had just been following. He blinked through the fog of magic, forcing his brain to accept where his feet had just been over what his eyes were telling him was true.

Shaking his head to clear it, he spotted a wide, sun dappled trail to his right twisting away into the trees. There was a nearby marker, likely left by the monks, indicating that the camp he was searching for would be found that way. He blew out a heavy breath, irked but relieved as he started forward again, moving quickly to make up for the hours he had already lost.

A light whistle was his only warning before something sharp and hollow hit him square on the side of his head with a painful smack. Whipping around with a snarl, sai appearing in his hand with a flash from the light, he scanned the clearing carefully, ignoring the large pine cone rolling away at his feet.

A tittering laugh drew his attention to a nearby tree where a small Aldafay hovered, weighed down by a second bristly cone. Its small thin body was brown and twig-like and its gossamer wings, like transparent dead leaves, fluttered with the effort of keeping it aloft. Its black eyes watched him carefully as its tiny mouth, little more than a slash through the wood of its body, twisted with a mischievous smirk.

It raised the pine cone up over its head.

“Don’t ya’ dare...” Raphael growled under his breath.

With a high pitched twirp the pine cone flew, Raph easily knocking it aside with his weapon.

The snarl that escaped him then was full of an entire day’s worth of agitation at nothing going the way it should have.

“Get outta here, ya’ little shit! I don’t have time for this!”

Startled by the large turtle’s baritone yell, the small fay zipped around the clearing, chittering excitedly, coming to perch on a tree branch before ducking to hide behind a large leaf.

Annoyed but satisfied, Raph spun and took off down the newly revealed trail at a jog. The clouds in the sky were just starting to flare with orange and red meaning he only had a short time left.

The path twisted and turned through the trees, the underbrush growing thicker with each step he took and the further he moved the more the sounds of the forest around him became muffled, like cotton in his ears.

He lengthened his stride as the trail beneath his feet grew increasingly narrow, long leafy branches from the surrounding trees pressing in around him. He watched as thick bushes full of thorny brambles shot up from the roots of the trees, growing faster than he could run, reaching up to tangle in the lowest branches over his head. Within a hundred yards he was encased in a tunnel of leaves. The forest was doing its best to deny him the use of his senses.

Choosing to ignore the claustrophobic weight settling in his chest he pressed on with a determined grimace. This would not beat him; this was tricks and deception. This was laughably predictable. It was almost disappointing. He had expected a far greater challenge.

After another hundred yards he heard the Aldafay following him with mocking twitters. Every few minutes the fay lobbed another pine cone at the turtle as he ran, bouncing them off his shell and the back of his head with gleeful giggles.

Raphael focused on his breathing, clenching his jaw with the effort of ignoring the aggravating little thing. His entire life the mischievous sprites were playing pranks and causing trouble whenever they chose to show themselves, usually at his expense, and his temper almost always got the better of him whenever a fay was involved. But right now, he couldn’t afford to stop and deal with the bothersome creature, the sun was setting fast.

Gradually he became aware of the sound of flowing water and picked up his pace, knowing he must be close to his goal. The sprite knew it too and took the opportunity to buzz around his head, its taunting trills echoing in his ears as it tried its best to distract him for a purpose only it knew. He swatted and swiped at it with his hands, arms flailing around him, snarling curses at the damn thing, but he didn’t dare stop moving. He was almost there.

Without warning the leaf tunnel broke open, spitting him out into a large clearing at the edge of a wide river, but the sprite didn’t give him even a second to get his bearings. Flying right up in front of his nose, its chirping shriek drowned out all other sound. With a rage filled yell he snapped his arm up, hand closing around the infuriating creature in triumph. It struggled in his grip, a pathetic twittering sound escaping through the fingers clenched around it.

Raphael didn’t care. He stalked, blind with intent, to the water’s edge, where he swung his arm back and threw the sprite as hard as he could at the river. The fay barely caught itself before it hit the water, its delicate leaf wings blurring around it.

“Raph! Leave it alone, it’s just messing with you.”

He knew that voice. It was familiar and colored with teasing laughter but slow to register and it took a few seconds for the haze of his rage to clear before Raph blinked in recognition at Michelangelo standing beside him. The prince of earth tilted his head, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, like he was expecting Raph to say something, but all he could manage was an irritated grunt.

With a knowing smirk, Mikey reached out, barely tracing down the inside of Raphael’s forearm, pausing at the wrist to tickle with small feather light circles. It was a tactic he’d used hundreds of times before to diffuse the prince of fire’s legendary temper and, as always, after a few seconds Raph took a deep breath and released his anger in a huff.

Satisfied, Michelangelo released his arm, and Raph’s vision cleared enough that he finally noticed Leonardo, standing just beyond Mikey’s shoulder. They both still had their travel packs slung over their shoulders.

“Cutting it a little close aren’t we, Raphael?”

Raph clenched his jaw on the sharp quip he had ready to go in response to that judgmental statement, like it wasn’t obvious that Leo and Mikey had also only just arrived. But his father’s voice echoed in his mind, reminding Raph about the importance of remembering his courtesies, especially during the trials; so, with great effort against his base instincts and with a twist of his lip, he only inclined his head in a stiff bow. “Leonardo.”

He delighted in the flicker of disappointment that flashed in Leo’s gaze. Their entire lives Leonardo had always been pushing at Raph’s buttons, toeing the boundary between them, endlessly ready with a snide comment about Raphael’s behavior, his attention span, his vocabulary, even the way he tied his robes. It was like Leo enjoyed fanning the flames of Raph’s temper the way he would smirk through the delivery of each quiet insult.

For years Michelangelo had been trying to get them to do more than just tolerate each other’s company, to the point that Raph was irrationally suspicious of just how much alone time the earth prince could possibly be spending with Leo to have such a high opinion of him.

Normally he would have gladly risen to the bait, taunting Leo, posturing, forcing a confrontation that would have had them both kneeling before their fathers within minutes. But right now, he was too tired to engage with the pompous windbag, he only had the energy for some hot food, a drink or three and the promise of a soft bedroll.

Used to the immediate tension between the other two, Michelangelo refocused their attention by turning to the water. He called to the flustered Aldafay, clicking softly with his tongue, his hand outstretched with concern. The creature fluttered into his palm with a sorrowful pip, burrowing into his fingers and Mikey stroked its tiny back soothingly.

Raphael just rolled his eyes, he knew the sprite was milking for sympathy, and Mikey was always gullible enough to fall for the act.

Close by, at the water’s edge stood four obsidian pillars, three with large glowing orbs sitting atop them that provided no light beyond their immediate halo. As the three turtles watched, the orb on top of the fourth pillar, with the symbol of a blazing flame carved onto its front, filled with its own soft light to match the others.

Raphael sighed with relief, finally releasing the last of his irritation. He had made it, with only minutes to spare, and the journey had turned out far more annoying than it should ever have been, but he had made it.

The peace was short lived though, Michelangelo turned back to them and the sprite levied a black-eyed defiant glare at Raphael from the safety of the fingertips carefully surrounding it. It was twittering again, low and fast in what he supposed was their version of an angry grumble, but Raphael had no interest in standing there to listen to it complain. He was turning to stomp off in search of his tent, when a trilling shriek rang in their ears, causing them all to jerk in surprise.

From the gently moving river burst an incensed Sindifay, throwing glittering droplets of water in all directions through the air as it darted toward them. It was twittering and chirping, gesturing angrily back and forth between Raphael and the still pathetic looking Aldafay nestled in Mikey’s palm.

They all stood in shock, staring at the enraged creature hovering before them, too stunned to move as it clamored, pointing at Raphael between spins and flips, waving its small arms and splashing their faces with mist from its liquid body.

Mikey snorted, trying not to laugh just before an unexpected orb of water emerged from the river, rising into the air and capturing the tiny fay. Their ears were still ringing as its powerful shrieks were silenced.

They all turned in unison and without a word, there he was, like he had materialized out of the river itself.

Donatello swiftly moved to join them, carefully allowing some of the water from the orb to drain away until it was shaped more like a bowl filled to the brim with water. The sprite poked its tiny head above the surface, looking straight up into the face hovering above it. It chirped, a question in the sound, and Donatello smiled softly.

“Hush now.” Donatello said, quiet as he reached toward Michelangelo, pulling the hand still holding the hunched Aldafay forward. “Your friend is fine. See? No harm done.”

The Sindifay peered over the lip of the bowl-shaped water, chirping brightly at its fellow, and the Aldafay lifted its head twittering back, the two excitedly launching into a symphony of trills and pips and musical calls.

After a moment, the Aldafay unfurled its leaf shaped wings and fluttered out of Mikey’s hand, rising to hover in front of Donatello’s face. It raised a twig-like arm in a gesture of thanks and the prince of water smiled warmly, bending his head with respect.

Then the fay spun and offered the same thanks to Michelangelo before it turned one last time, made a rude gesture at Raphael, and darted off into the trees.

Mikey spluttered with laughter, bending at the waist as he howled. Even Leonardo was smiling with a silent chuckle. But Raphael hardly noticed, in fact he had barely seen any of the entire exchange at all. The moment Donatello had appeared coherent thought seemed to have failed him entirely. His attention was captured by the prince of water to the exclusion of all else.

During the encounter with the troublesome fay, the last of the daylight had faded and now the full moon completed its rise above the tree line, casting its silver white light on the water and illuminating the four of them in its ethereal glow.

Raphael felt disconnected, like he was caught in a dream.

Donatello’s light, olive toned skin practically shimmered in the moonlight, the soft lavender shade of his tunic and pants absorbing the light even further and drawing the eye to the intricately embroidered waves, rivers and raindrops stitched in the darkest blues and purples across the arms and legs. His pale purple mask crinkled around his eyes as he shyly joined Mikey’s laughter, the sound of it a light and throaty rumble that sent a shiver across Raph’s skin.

He was suddenly struck by a sense of the familiar and he couldn’t help but think that he had heard that sound before. There were hazy flashes of memory, a night under a different full moon, wine and dance and the warm glowing flame of torches at the edges of his vision. It was hard to remember, as drunk as he was, but he had been chasing a presence he thought he knew, at one point his arms had been full of that strangely cool warmth before the crowd had swallowed him up again.

By the time the sun came up the next morning he had only a fuzzy memory and the feeling that there was someone he needed to be looking for. But even though he had spent the following day asking every person he came across if they knew who the stranger had been, he found no answers and eventually the thought faded from his mind... until now... because the someone he had been looking for... no, it couldn’t be...

Raphael’s entire body went numb as Donatello’s eyes slid up to look into his and the truth in those warm brown orbs crashed over him with the power of an ocean wave.

~*~

The Sindifay was twittering with its own laugh and Donatello was happy to hear the sound. His small friend wasn’t easy to anger, but when it did find reason, it was like a tiny hurricane taking out any and all in its wake.

The sound of its shrieking was what had drawn him from his tent and, if the miserable Aldafay hunched in Mikey’s hand was any indication, Don immediately knew the reason for its displeasure.

Yet, for the first few seconds he had been frozen in place as it raved and his mind had gone blank at the reality of seeing them all there in front of him, real and solid, and an unexpected fear gripped his heart knowing this was it. He wasn’t hiding anymore.

After a second he took a breath and brushed the feeling aside, moving quickly to the water’s edge as the tiny fay grew more and more agitated. He knew the water would soothe it and wasted no time containing its ire.

Now that the confrontation was over, his friend was calm, swimming a lazy circle in the water bowl Don still held over his palm.

“Satisfied?” He asked quietly, slowly letting the water drain away until it was gone, and the fay took to the air again, spinning and splashing drops of water onto the side of Donatello’s face.

The Sindifay tittered, floating back until it could peer directly at the other turtles silently standing there with an unsettling, judgmental stare. Then it turned back to its favored companion and chirped again, leaping away with another spinning splash and quickly diving back into the river where it disappeared into the darkness.

Donatello smiled wistfully, watching it go, then with a nervous intake of breath he raised his chin and acknowledged the three standing beside him.

He looked to Michelangelo first because he was the most familiar, the safest, the one he at least knew, if only barely, and found himself once again pierced by those bright blue eyes, open and honest and brimming with happiness.

“You’re really here.” Mikey whispered.

Had Michelangelo really believed he wouldn’t be? Don actually blushed, embarrassed by the heat spreading across his cheeks.

“Well... you asked me not to be late.” Don answered with a shy smile.

The prince of earth beamed, joy lighting his face as he surged forward, wrapping his arms around Don’s neck so forcefully that he knocked them both back a step.

Startled by the sudden affection and Mikey’s heavy but pleasant weight against him, Donatello released a breathy laugh. He tentatively raised his arms to wrap them around the earth prince, relaxing as he was filled with comforting warmth. The places where their bodies touched tingled and for the first time his magic reached out without hesitation, connecting with Mikey’s in an invigorating buzz that made their skin pebble with goose flesh. Almost instantly he was enveloped in a feeling so right and natural, one that he was so starved for, he thought he would never want to let go.

He closed his eyes so he could savor it for as long as possible.

“Alright Mikey, let Donatello breathe.” Leonardo finally said when it seemed like Michelangelo had no intention of ever letting go either.

Mikey pouted as he reluctantly stepped back, and Don immediately missed his warmth but tried not to let any disappointment show on his face. They were together now and never again would any of them have to suffer from the separation they had been forced to endure.

Eager to move forward and leave the past behind them, he turned and met Leonardo’s gaze for the first time. His face wasn’t as joyous as Mikey’s, his expression guarded, and Donatello felt a momentary disquiet unsettle him. There was a smile on Leonardo’s lips, but Don couldn’t help but notice that it stopped just short of his eyes, and he found that he didn’t know what to say. For a lifetime he had thought about this moment and now that he was here the words he’d practiced over and over in his mind disappeared.

He looked at them, Mikey’s excited smile joining Leonardo’s searching stare and it was like the world simply stopped spinning. He tried not to think about how ridiculous he must look, standing there silently chewing his lip, and the longer they stayed there awkwardly glancing at each other the more nervous he became, so that by the time he forced himself to look at Raphael he felt like a lightning bolt striking him down where he stood would be a welcome relief.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to look at Raphael, the opposite in fact, but this forest was amplifying their magic in a way that he had never felt before and the sticky sweat that broke out on his skin wasn’t helping.

What he felt from Mikey was a grounded comfort, strong and solid and completely opposite from what he felt from Leonardo, whose magic was insistent and wild, but soothing like a warm summer breeze. Raphael’s magic was something different all together, stronger than both of the others combined. Don could feel the heat radiating off him, it sizzled on his skin, and suddenly it was if he were back in that darkened grove, firelight flickering at the edges of his vision.

That pull in his chest, the tether straining between them that had so excited and frightened him the night of the mask was now a force that he had to fight to resist. Suddenly the thought of being enveloped in Raphael’s arms again was the only thing he could think of and it took all his strength and control to keep his feet planted where they were on the ground. If it wasn’t for the water gently lapping at his heels, he wasn’t sure he would have been able to stop himself from rushing forward and making a fool out of himself.

Maybe it was the moonlight or the shadows, but Raphael’s golden eyes looked like pinpoints of fire burning in the dark, beckoning to him like a flame tempts a moth with its light. He wanted to surrender and let those eyes consume him, he wanted to run and hide to save himself from the agony. He wanted Raphael to say something to break the spell he had cast.

Mikey looked back and forth between them both with delight, finally clapping his hands together so enthusiastically the sharp crack of it echoed across the water, startling them all.

“Alright then, let’s get this show on the road!” Michelangelo quipped, sliding between them with a suggestive smile on his face. “I don’t know about you guys but, I’m gonna go slip into something a little more... comfortable.”

Both Raphael and Leonardo groaned and just like that the tension eased and they all breathed again.

“That’s a good idea, Mikey.” Leonardo said. “It’s been a long day and we should change and clean up, then take stock of the supplies.”

Don perked up, eager to contribute, pointing at a small pile of crates near the cold and dark fire pit. “I’ve already looked through what the monks left for us. It’s mostly preserved food, dried fruit and nuts, some root vegetables, if we want anything fresh, we’ll need to forage, but they’ve also included some tools and items that might be useful as we travel...” He trailed off, biting his lip and fidgeting as they intently watched him ramble like they thought he was speaking in a different language.

After a moment he continued, quieter than before, gesturing awkwardly at the river behind him. “I was thinking I might try and catch some fish for us though, so we can at least have a hot meal tonight.”

“That sounds good. Thank you, Donatello.” Leonardo finally offered with a closed expression before moving swiftly to his tent and disappearing inside. Raphael followed close behind him and Don only just caught the curious look he cast back at him over his shoulder before entering his own tent.

That was it. Their first meeting and he hadn’t said a single word he had prepared.

Don was almost shaking. He clenched his hands at his sides to make sure the movement wasn’t visible and stared down at his toes. Of course, he had known there would be adjustments and that they would need time to get used to each other, but somehow it hadn’t even crossed his mind that simple conversation would be one of the first trials they would be made to face.

The gentle warmth of Mikey’s fingers linking with his brought him out of his thoughts. Donatello had almost forgotten that he was there.

“Don’t mind them.” Mikey said, leaning in so his lips were near Don’s ear. “They’re just not as dashing and charming as I am. They’ll love you once we all get to know each other.”

At the soft words Don felt some of the fear draining from his tense muscles and even managed a smile as the earth prince left a lingering kiss on his cheek before darting off to his own tent.

Alone once more and wanting to keep himself busy, Don looked around, spotting an old bucket near the fire pit. Walking over to grab it he tried to steady his breathing, telling himself that the entire encounter had probably been a lot less awkward than it seemed, and honestly, he didn’t know what he had expected. At least Mikey seemed to have fully accepted him without hesitation.

He went back to the river with the bucket, raising his hand slightly and walking out onto the surface of the water like it was solid ground. A dozen feet from the shore the water surrounded a large flat rock half hidden beneath the draping branches of an old willow tree, and that was where he crouched, quiet and still, looking intently into the depths. Slowly he extended his hand, fingers trailing along the surface of the water in front of him. Nothing happened for a long moment, then with an impressive quickness, he jerked his arm up with a clenched fist, a heavy orb of water following his movement upward. Within the orb, two large silver-bell trout swam in confused circles.

He carefully placed the fish, and the water they swam in, into the bucket at his side and returned to the campsite.

Leonardo and Michelangelo had already emerged, changed out of their traveling gear into the more traditional tunic and pants they were expected to wear when in camp, and Don slowed his steps to give himself a few extra seconds to observe them.

Mikey was the same as Don remembered him. His sea green skin complemented by fabric in a pale orange tone, embroidered with images of rocky mountain sides, deep golden canyons and vast rolling sand dunes in delicate browns and yellows that trailed along his arms and down the back of the garment. The band of orange cloth wrapped around his face had similar embroidery accenting the openings around his eyes.

Leonardo was more difficult to read as he concentrated on looking through the crates and the items the monks provided for them. The soft light blue of his clothing perfectly matched the leaf green color of his skin, with embroidered clouds and swirls of air in white and silver and grey threads adorning the sleeves and the loose pants he also wore. The silver thread woven into his blue mask glittered as it caught the moonlight.

Reaching the fire pit, he gently set the bucket on the ground, watching the fish continue to swim in circles. Michelangelo appeared at his shoulder with a playful grin, holding a dagger in his left hand and Don eyed the blade with interest.

“You know how to gut a fish?” Don asked.

With a smirk the smaller turtle flipped the knife, offering Don the handle. “Something tells me you’re the expert at that.”

Amused, Don accepted the knife with a nod, but before he could move, he noticed Mikey’s eyes flick to something over his shoulder.

“So nice of you to join us, Raphie. Come on do your thing, it’s starting to get cold out here.” Mikey teased, motioning to the dark fire pit.

“Don’t call me Raphie.”

The deep rumble of Raphael’s voice pulsed straight through Don and all he could think about was how much he wanted to hear the sound again. Instead, he heard the snapping of fingers from just behind him and flames burst to life right in front of his eyes. Mikey quickly started adding small pieces of kindling to catch and the fire blazed higher, filling the night pressing in around them with a cheerful glow.

Don knelt on the ground next to Mikey, pulling the bucket with the fish close and grabbing a nearby empty crate, flipping it over to use as a makeshift table. From the corner of his eye, he saw Raphael circling the fire, stopping to sit on a log directly across from him. He had a strange look on his face and Don didn’t quite know what to make of it.

Of course, he had considered the possibility that they would be wary of him, had expected it even, but in the gloom, with the glare of the firelight in his eyes, it was all too easy to see the shadows shifting across Raphael’s face as suspicion and distrust and instantly something primal within him tensed against that reality. That’s not how he wanted them to look at him. He wanted to reassure Raphael, reassure them all, that his intentions were honorable, and they had nothing to fear from him. They couldn’t start out on this journey any other way.

Don opened his mouth to say something, anything to relieve the uncomfortable pressure smothering him, but then he blinked, and the shadows moved again, changing Raphael’s features and suddenly it wasn’t a scowl, only a curious frown creasing his brow. Don closed his eyes and breathed deep, trying to quell his overreaction. Allowing dark thoughts like that to take hold would accomplish nothing.

Instead, he focused on what he could see right in front of him. Raphael was bulkier than the other two, more muscled. He wasn’t cheerful, like Michelangelo, or as serious as Leonardo, but there was a heaviness to him, commanding and strong while at the same time soft somehow. The tunic and pants he wore were colored in a deep burgundy that enhanced the dark emerald color of his skin, and the cut accentuated his muscled form in a way that was nothing if not completely distracting. Embroidered flames in bright golds and oranges, the same amber color as his eyes, twisted around his arms and thighs in a way obviously meant to draw the eye.

He was handsome beyond all thought and Donatello felt every word in his head dry to dust on his tongue.

“What is the deal with all these gloomy faces?” Mikey asked, looking at each of them with exasperation. “This is supposed to be a happy day! We’re here, we’re together, we’re about to have the time of our lives, and you three are dragging down the whole mood.”

He paused, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “I know what we’ll do... Donnie’s gifted us with these pretty fish, so when we’re done eating, I’ll throw the bones for each of us. It’ll be fun, and there’s no harm in finding out what to expect from the next few days.”

Don laughed lightly. The throwing of bones was an ancient Sucellen ritual used to tell the future or one’s fortune, the thought being that because living creatures were matter and destined to return to the earth after death, that meant bones could be used to see their fate, or something to that effect.

His priests in Varuna had their own form of fortune telling where they would stand near a river and recite an incantation, then they would wait and watch the water carefully. Any objects that floated past were used to predict the destiny of the person for whom the spell was cast.

He was aware that both Agni and Aeolus had similar rituals of their own involving staring into a flame and listening to the wind respectively, but Don had never bothered to study the practices in depth. It was all ridiculous superstition to him, flights of fancy and opinion that couldn’t be proven by fact.

However, he did appreciate the effort Mikey was making all the same.

“A word of advice.” Raphael cut in with a grunt. “Don’t pay any attention to this mystic mumbo jumbo he likes to pull. It’s just a trick he uses to get into everyone’s pants.”

Michelangelo looked offended. “It’s not mumbo jumbo! I’ll have you know my predictions are almost foolproof, and I certainly don’t need any tricks when I want to get into _your_ pants, I might add.”

Raphael shrugged and rolled his eyes, conceding the point, and that seemed to appease the earth prince judging by the knowing smirk that settled on his face.

Don dispatched and filleted the two fish while the two turtles continued to lightheartedly bicker for a few minutes over the virtues, or lack thereof, of Sucellen bone reading. Don was quietly enjoying the banter, even though it only highlighted to him how close they were with each other.

During the entire exchange he had been partially aware of, and studiously ignoring, the heavy gaze being leveled on him from the perfectly still and silent leaf green turtle still standing near the crates, but by the time Michelangelo was raising small pebbles from the ground and flicking them into Raphael’s face, distracting the prince of fire enough to win their argument, Don couldn’t stand the pressure of it any longer.

He finished with the fish and rinsed his hands in the bucket of water before turning to face the prince of air, but before he could speak Leonardo stepped forward into the firelight.

“We’re going to need more firewood. Donatello, would you help me gather some?”

It wasn’t such a strange request. Donatello had no idea why his hackles were suddenly raised.

He looked at Leonardo, then to the pitch-black forest, then back again.

“In the dark?” He asked simply.

The hint of a smirk ghosted across Leonardo’s lips. He pulled a torch from a nearby crate and leaned forward, lighting it in the fire. Then he straightened and waited expectantly, holding the flame away and above his head.

Now it was Don’s turn to use a smile that didn’t reach all the way to his eyes.

“Of course.” Was his short reply.

Maybe it was simply the awkwardness of the day, there was still so much uncertainty it was no wonder he felt a little unsure of himself. It wasn’t the dark that was cause for concern, he knew that. He’d spent enough nights wandering the forests back home all by himself to be perfectly comfortable in the trees after nightfall.

Even so, an unease settled in his gut that he resolutely pushed away. It had been a long and emotionally trying day and he needed to try and keep his thoughts positive.

Michelangelo stepped over to him, carefully transferring the fish into a wooden bowl. “Go on.” He whispered with encouragement. “The food will be ready by the time you get back.”

With no reason to refuse, he gave Mikey a quick, confident smile, and followed Leonardo into the blackness of the forest.

~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this chapter was ok and I'm sorry it took a bit for me to get it posted. I've been super busy irl and my motivation and creativity have suffered because of it. I'm trying to get back on track. <3
> 
> Also, Thank you so much for the AFFA nominations on this fic (and my other fics)! I'm beyond humbled and so grateful for each and every one. <3<3<3


	7. Perceptions and Projections

~*~*~*~

Raphael watched the emperor’s son and the prince of water disappear into the trees with a critical eye. Leonardo had that look on his face. A look Raph had been on the receiving end of many times before and it never meant anything good, at least not for Raph, and the altercation that almost always followed usually left him with a fresh bruise or two and a bad taste in his mouth.

“Ya’ don’t think Leo’s gonna...?”

He trailed off as Mikey looked up from the ingredients he was preparing for their dinner, a concerned frown replacing the happy excitement in his eyes.

“No... of course not.” Mikey shook his head, as if he was banishing the thought, a smile replacing the frown. “He’s only like that with you.”

“Yeah, I’m not so sure about that.”

Leonardo was a control freak, always pushing others to do things his way or no way at all, and this stunk up and down of Leo forcing Donatello into a position where he wouldn’t have much leverage.

In fact, the more he thought about it the more he was sure that was exactly what was about to happen. He fought back the sudden intense urge to go after them and warn the prince of water what he might be walking into, but he didn’t want to leave Mikey alone in the dark on their first night, and besides, Donatello needed to prove himself somehow. If he couldn’t handle Leonardo on his own for long enough to gather firewood, then he was doomed, with or without Raph’s help.

One thing was for sure though, if these trials were meant to teach them how to work together or some shit like that then he was not going to let that blowhard of a prince push him around like he always tried to do. They were equals here, the game board had been reset. After today there would be no more deferment to the emperor’s son. They were all in this together, come hell or high water, and Leonardo was just like them now.

Best case scenario, Donatello would take the pompous windbag down a peg or two.

Not that he had any idea of whether or not the prince of water was actually capable of doing that. He was a mystery they would all have to be very careful with, and now that Raph had some time to calm down and think, he was starting to put a few things together that weren’t making a whole lot of sense.

The moment Donatello had appeared Raph knew he had seen him before, but it wasn’t his face that he recognized. It was the feel of him, the magic buzzing across his nerve endings that was different from anything he’d ever felt from Mikey or Leo. It made the tips of his fingers tingle, like they would fall off if he didn’t reach out and grab on and pull Donatello in as close as he could get him.

He’d felt that strange tugging sensation before, but at the time he’d dismissed the feeling because of where he was and how much he had been drinking. Now, however, he could clearly see it for what it was.

The warm body in his arms, the soft olive toned skin, the dark brown eyes… somehow it had been Donatello in the glade the night of the mask. He just didn’t understand how... or why. Why hadn’t the prince of water said who he was? Why had he been there at all?

As Raph understood it, the people of the Kingdom of Varuna had always been reclusive, but over the last twenty five years that odd behavior had been taken to its extreme. He wasn’t alone in feeling the absence where three should have been four, but all things considered he thought he was lucky enough to grow up with Mikey at his side. The close relationship their fathers shared meant they spent a lot of time going back and forth between each other’s kingdoms. And even though Leonardo spent less time traveling beyond the borders of his own lands, they were still as close as could be expected of the crown princes, even with their clashing personalities.

Throughout his life Raphael had often thought about the water kingdom and what it might be like, of the prince that should have grown up alongside them all. But the subject was never discussed outside of whispered rumor and made up tales and whenever he would try to ask his father about it, Kaimon would grow distant and tell Raph to go away with a far off look on his face. It was a mystery that had shadowed them all their entire lives.

Now that mysterious prince was a shadow disappearing into the twilight only feet from where he sat, and Raphael just did not understand how Donatello could have been in his kingdom that night, hiding behind a stone encrusted mask with grass covering his shoulders, dancing and drinking and so far away from where he was supposed to be.

It didn’t make any sense.

Raph huffed out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and ground the heels of his hands into his eyes, trying to rub away the frustration. Mikey was chopping up a few vegetables, adding them to a large pot hung over the fire. It was already starting to bubble and the delicious smell of the simmering stew inside it made Raph’s stomach rumble with hunger.

The younger noticed him looking, oblivious to Raph’s inner turmoil, and eyed him appreciatively with a sly smile before returning to his work. Raphael was tired, with barely enough energy for Mikey’s flirting, but he managed to return the look with an indulgent smirk of his own and reached for a nearby wine skin. The full cup he poured disappeared quickly, drinking down the vintage in one long swallow.

Finally starting to relax, the liquid warming his chilled skin from the inside out, he poured himself another cup and watched Mikey for a moment longer, wondering how the prince of earth always found it so easy to be lighthearted and friendly with everyone he met. Complete strangers never failed to give Raph a wide berth, but they drifted to Mikey without hesitation, like they just knew he could be trusted.

Even before, in his confused state, Raph had seen how Mikey had immediately latched onto Donatello and how quickly the prince of water had responded in kind, like they already knew each other.

Raphael blinked, suddenly remembering one of the first things Donatello had said.

“What did he mean, when he said ya’ asked him not to be late?”

Mikey looked over at him with confused eyes that quickly changed to a tolerant smile. “He was in Sucellus. Remember? That night at the bathhouse when we chased him into the garden. You didn’t believe me, but he was there. I talked to him for a bit before he left.”

Had that really happened? Raph remembered drinking too much wine and falling asleep with his head propped up at an awkward angle against the stone lip of the small pool they had all to themselves. He woke up with a crick in his neck and pruney toes.

“I thought ya’ were just goofin’ off, like ya’ always do.”

“Nope.” Mikey said simply with a quirk on his lips. “Doesn’t matter though, he only stayed for a few minutes.”

That settled it then. If Donatello was in that garden like Mikey said he was, then he had been in Agni the night of the mask. The last of his doubt disappeared as he accepted the truth only now Raphael was more confused than ever.

“I saw him... at the Wildfire Masquerade... he was there.”

“I know.” Mikey said without even the slightest surprise. “Man, I’m still bummed I had to miss it this year. Did you have that guy that swallows the fire again? I love that guy.”

“I just don’t understand why he didn't tell me who he was?” Raph mumbled, looking down at the dirt between his feet.

Michelangelo didn’t respond and Raph didn’t feel like saying anything else. He watched a small beetle crawl across the ground between his heels and listened to the night crickets chirping from the trees.

After a minute a familiar pair of knees slid into his line of sight and Raph sat back to give him room, looking up to see a sympathetic look in Mikey’s eyes.

“What would you have done? What would your _father_ have done, if he had just blurted out his name?”

Raph didn’t understand the question. “Nothin’. We wouldn’t have...”

“Think about it, Raph.” Mikey pressed gently. “Do you really think your father would have just offered him a seat at the table like he was an expected guest? ‘Welcome to Agni, Prince Donatello. How’s life? Oh, and what’s your father been up to all these years?’... You know how your father gets whenever anyone even mentions King Archus. Donnie was protecting himself. He wanted to see the world that’s been kept from him and he wanted to do it quietly. Like we would’ve done, if it were us.”

“Maybe...”

An impish smile twisted the corners of Mike’s mouth as he shuffled on his knees, scooting in until there was only a sliver of space between them. He slid his hands with determined pressure along Raph’s thighs from his knees to his hips where he stopped and gently massaged the hard muscles, leaning in to whisper against Raphael’s lips.

“He wasn’t there to make trouble. He was just looking for a good time.”

Mikey’s fingers worked their magic, causing a shiver to shoot down Raph’s spine that he felt in his tail. Knowing what his friend was getting at, Raph shook his head in amusement. “What are ya’ doin’?”

“Making trouble...” Mikey said, leaving a slow, lingering kiss on his lips. “I missed you.”

Raph chuckled. “It’s only been three weeks.”

“Three weeks is a long time.” Mikey said with a pout, his tongue darting out to tease at Raph’s mouth.

Their kiss was familiar and just a little desperate, each of them soaking it in like they hadn’t had a drink all day. Mikey’s warm arms slithered around his waist and in a blink every previous thought was erased from Raph’s mind. With an indulgent smile he leaned forward, pressing firmly into Mikey’s mouth, reaching up to wrap the orange tails of his mask around his fingers, tugging gently so the smaller turtle had to crane his neck. A happy hum came from deep within Mikey’s throat as he curled his fingers around the edge of Raph’s plastron, trailing them upward along his sides.

Raphael barely noticed the wandering digits though, focused as he was on exploring the inner depths of Mikey’s mouth with his tongue. They were good like this and always had been. He missed it when they weren’t together.

Raph broke their kiss and moved downward, drawing a moan from Mikey as he nibbled on his neck, making the younger squirm a little and press in closer.

“You’re gonna let dinner burn.” Raph murmured against the sea green skin.

“Maybe I’m not hungry anymore...” Mikey mewled, gasping as Raph’s teeth scraped along his collarbone.

Maybe dinner would have burned. Raph certainly wasn’t thinking about it anymore, and they were so wrapped up in each other, that they almost didn’t hear the stomping footsteps returning quickly from within the woods.

~*~

Leaving the safety of the fire behind them, they walked into the dark following the course of the river. The illumination from the torch barely provided enough light for Donatello to see the path, but he didn’t really need it, the moon glimmered on the water to his right, casting its silver light just far enough into the trees to show him the way.

Leonardo had positioned himself a few steps just behind his left shoulder as soon as they’d entered the trees and Don was trying not to read too much into it. It was a classic tactic, normally used to intimidate an opponent, but it could also be used to gather information or take stock of a situation before confronting it.

When he turned to glance back over his shoulder he could see the orange light from the flame flickering on the hilts of the twin katana strapped across Leonardo’s shell. They were beautiful weapons. Totally unnecessary for the task of gathering firewood, but beautiful. Don wasn’t sure what to think of the implication being made by those blades, but he decided that for the moment he would allow Leonardo to maneuver him into the position he preferred, a small sacrifice for the sake of making a good first impression.

For the first hundred yards neither of them spoke and Don quickly took note of how silent the prince of air was, not even the leaves crunched under his feet. If it wasn’t for the tendrils of their magic reaching out to tentatively touch, he might have completely forgotten that Leonardo was even there. It was eerie and, if he was perfectly honest, it was starting to make him uncomfortable.

Don grimaced, he couldn’t let something as simple as Leonardo walking behind him color his thoughts and impressions. That wouldn’t do either of them any good. Instead, he tried to refocus his concentration on himself and the forest surrounding them. There was an owl softly hooting somewhere deep in the trees and the sound calmed his nerves. It reminded him of the forests he’d grown up in back home and he reached out to brush his hands against the trees as he walked past them. A small comfort, in a tense situation.

“This forest is familiar. It’s so much like the wood that surrounds my castle in Varuna.” Don said quietly, thinking to fill the silence with small talk.

“I wouldn’t know.”

Don sighed, the skin on the back of his neck prickling at hearing the terse reply. He was racking his brain trying to think of what he could say to put the prince of air at ease.

“Listen, I know this is strange, for all of us, but I... we... are finally here, we’re together, and I hope we can...”

The words died on his lips as the trees directly in front of him suddenly moved, lifting out of the earth by their roots and scuttling to the side with a rumbling creak that shook the ground. A clearing opened up in front of them, revealing the bare forest floor littered with dead and dry tree limbs. Leonardo almost bumped into his shell as Don stopped short.

They stood and stared for a moment while the trees settled back into the soil, before Don finally whispered, “ _What you may need, the spirits will provide._ ”

“Yes, I’ve read the scroll.” Leonardo huffed, sliding around Don and setting the torch he was carrying up against a rock. He picked up a nearby limb and began breaking it into smaller pieces.

Donatello followed suit and after a few more moments with only the sound of cracking wood to break the awkward silence, he finally decided to try again.

“You know, we really don’t need to pretend like you asked me out here just to gather firewood.” Don began in a voice that he hoped sounded friendly.

“I didn’t think you would even be here at all.” Leonardo replied, keeping his eyes on the ground.

“Well I am.” Don said, lifting his chin. “And happy to be. We’ve all waited a long time for this.”

“How would you know what we’ve been waiting for?” Leonardo said with a sharp glance in Don’s direction.

The barb stung, deflating his momentary courage, the ice in the prince of air’s eyes enough to make him consider retreating into his shell. Instead he swallowed and turned away, concentrating on gathering the wood so Leonardo wouldn’t see the hurt on his face.

He should have expected this. He had known they would have questions and understood there would be a degree of caution as they came to know each other better, but the intensity and coldness in Leonardo’s words was surprising and Don wasn’t quite sure how to respond.

“I don’t presume to know anything about you or what you’ve thought about me before coming into this.” He began again, slowly, keeping his back turned. “All I can offer is my assurance that I am not your enemy, if that’s what you fear. You can ask me anything. I’ll answer your questions as honestly as I can. It’s my hope that we can come to a place where there won’t need to be any secrets between us.”

“We’re not the ones that have secrets to keep.”

Another clipped response and Don shook his head, a sense of dread settling over him as he realized that Leonardo wasn’t giving him even an inch to work with. It was really starting to seem like meeting Michelangelo first may have given him a false sense of security about how they all would receive him.

His hope that a lifetime of separation would be easily left behind them was dwindling rapidly under the weight of Leonardo’s cold demeanor and Donatello felt unexpected annoyance flare in his chest. It appeared that the prince of air had already made up his mind about him and that wasn’t fair. What had he done to deserve being treated this way? What did Leonardo think he was going to do?

“Michelangelo doesn’t seem to be in such a hurry to learn all of my secrets.” Don quipped.

“Michelangelo is naive. Too quick to trust. One day someone is going to slip a knife through his ribs and he won’t even see the blade.”

Leonardo made the claim so quietly Don almost didn’t hear it. Yet, it was said with such confidence that he was puzzled. From what little he knew of Michelangelo it seemed that the prince of earth was smart and more than capable of handling himself.

Don turned on his heel, ready to question the statement, but as his eyes landed on Leonardo he froze in stunned disbelief, a numb wave tingling all the way down to his toes.

The prince of air stood in the middle of the clearing, his feet planted wide with one katana unsheathed. It was pointed at the ground and the blue banded turtle’s posture was relaxed, but the threat was there all the same. Don’s eyes locked on the blade watching the moonlight and torchlight glint on its highly polished surface.

Donatello wasn’t too proud to admit that the look Leonardo aimed at him then sliced through him straight to his bones. In the flickering darkness it almost looked like the emperor himself was staring him down through those shadowed hazel orbs.

They held, unmoving for so long Don lost track of time, a million thoughts racing through his mind until finally he settled on the most obvious one.

“Is this you? Or your father?” Don straightened, trying to remain calm under the sudden storm that was the prince of air.

Perhaps he had misinterpreted his encounter with Splinter. Maybe the short conversation he’d had with the rat had been a way to make him lower his guard, to give Leonardo the opportunity he needed to preemptively strike. It wouldn’t surprise him at least, knowing what kind of man the emperor was.

Leonardo pursed his lips, answering with narrowed eyes. “They mean the world to me, and I will protect them with my life.”

“You believe me to be a threat?” Don countered.

“Are you?”

He knew that Leonardo was testing him, trying to gauge his reactions, and because of that he needed to be very careful with his responses. This would likely be his only chance to convince the emperor’s son that he meant them no harm.

With a slow intake of breath he stared calmly into Leonardo’s eyes. “No.”

Leonardo said nothing, staying still as a statue, staring through Donatello like he was seeing into his very soul. But Don had no intention of standing idly by, nor would he accept being treated like this without cause. The only play he had left was to call Leonardo’s bluff.

“If you’re going to cut me down, then do it. I’m unarmed.” He made an open gesture with his hands, trying to ignore his heart hammering in his chest. “But something tells me I’m not wrong in thinking you have more honor than that.”

Don saw the flash in Leonardo’s eyes and knew he’d hit the right nerve. A blink was the prince of air’s only movement before he spun the katana in his palm and expertly slid it back into its sheath. He otherwise stayed in place, crossing his arms over his plastron and staring at Don from under his eye ridges.

“Why did your father lock down Varuna’s borders?”

And there it was. Don couldn’t help the small smile that played across his lips. “Straight to the point. I can respect that.”

Leonardo raised his chin, not backing down. “I see no reason to stumble through small talk. There are questions that we have all waited our entire lives to have answered, and I will have your explanations before we go any further.”

Don looked to the side, finding the river he could only just see through the trees like he was trying to draw on its power through sight alone. He knew this moment would come, knew this would be the first question they asked of him, had tried so many times to prepare an answer that would satisfy them. Yet, no matter how much he had worried it over in his mind, he’d never really managed to come up with a response that he felt was honest while still protective of everything he held dear. Now all he could do was be careful and take it one word at a time.

A long moment passed before he looked back into Leonardo’s scrutinizing gaze. “I don’t think my answer will be the one you’re looking for.”

Leonardo only offered a slight tilt of his head. “Try me.”

“Alright... I don’t know.” Don shrugged, trying to hide his nervousness under nonchalance. “My father has many reasons for the things that he does... he shares few of them with me.”

“You don’t know?” Leonardo said slowly.

“The king is a... private man, he keeps to himself most of the time. He doesn’t speak to me often, and when he does it’s never about affairs of state.”

Leonardo didn’t even blink. “You’re right, I don’t like that answer.”

Exhaling through his nose, Don pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth, unsure of what else he could say.

Leonardo frowned. “You expect me to believe that in all this time your father never once told you why he closed your borders, brought all trade to a standstill and cut off every means of communication with the lands outside Varuna?”

“It never really came up.” Don said a little more flippantly than he had intended.

“Stop deflecting.” Leonardo countered. “To stand there and imply that he has never spoken to you about the affairs of the kingdom you are expected to inherit in just a few short weeks is ridiculous. He must have told you something. Is he even still alive?”

“In a manner of speaking.” Don bit his tongue, the words escaping his lips before he even had a chance to think about them.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Leonardo asked with a confused frown.

“Nothing.” Don answered quickly, frustrated with himself for the slip. “I just mean that I doubt he’s given it much thought.”

“And what of Torlan? Are you also going to tell me your grandfather never speaks to you either?”

Donatello went very still, the question catching him off guard. During his time spent in the other kingdoms he had discovered that the general population was not aware that his grandfather was dead, a fact that honestly didn’t surprise him given the circumstances, but it had never occurred to him that word of Torlan’s death would not have at least been sent to the royal families. He had always assumed the priesthood would have found some way to inform them. But now, looking into Leonardo’s eyes across the darkened clearing he was stunned to realize that the prince of air truly didn’t know.

“What is it?” Leonardo asked, confusion narrowing his eyes.

Don could see an opportunity when one presented itself. Leonardo was being cautious with him and was already questioning the half truths he had been offering, but this was his chance to give something that he didn’t need to twist around a hidden meaning.

When he finally spoke, his voice was low. “There was a plague, fifteen years ago. Our physicians did everything they could for weeks to find a cure... but before they did the sickness took two hundred and eight souls. My grandfather... and my mother among them.”

There was almost no reaction, Leonardo’s eyes going wide with shock.

“Torlan is dead?”

Donatello didn’t bother to conceal the pain in his eyes. “There are many things in my life that would be vastly different if my grandfather were still alive.”

The blue banded prince blinked through his disbelief. “All these years...? Why was no one told?”

Don didn’t have an answer for that except for a half shrug that barely moved his shoulders, watching with trepidation as the shock in Leonardo’s eyes transformed into dark suspicion. The prince of air stared at him for almost a full minute, eyes narrowing like he was making a decision about something, before he continued in a hard voice.

“I don’t believe you. You’re hiding something. There would be no reason to conceal your grandfather's death, especially under such innocuous circumstances. A sickness that took that many lives could never have been kept a secret.”

Don was flabbergasted. “Why would I lie about...”

“Your family held the emperor’s throne for four generations before my father won the seat. Our father’s have never talked about the circumstances of their trials, and because of that the real truth about what happened twenty five years ago is shrouded in secrecy, but the result was your father’s disqualification. His failure. That fact is indisputable. So, it’s not a stretch to think that Torlan and Archus have devised a plan to take back what they so disgracefully lost... using you.”

Don’s eye twitched as he fought to maintain his composure, everything about this was ridiculous and he had to take a deep breath before trusting himself to speak. “That... might be a reasonable assumption to make, if there were any truth to it, but I assure you that’s not what...”

“And what better way to get us to lower our guard,” Leonardo cut in, “than by weaving a tale of your grandfather's tragic, untimely death. Making us feel sorry for you, before springing your trap?”

“Wh... what are you talking about?” Don questioned, trying not to let confusion and anger cloud his responses. “There’s no trap, no plan to do anythi...”

“Let’s pretend for a moment that this story you’ve told is true. If your grandfather really is dead then that’s all the more reason for us to suspect you. Are you here to win back your family's legacy in his honor? By any means necessary perhaps? To achieve for your grandfather’s memory what your father could not? Otherwise, why would you even bother to show your face here?” Leonardo’s arm shot out to his side, sharply jabbing at the air with one pointed finger. “ _This place_ alone threatens the legacy of what your father has built in isolating your kingdom and your people. Surely he expects you to uphold that decree.”

“Now who’s deflecting?” Don spat, no longer interested in containing his ire. “You know it’s not that simple! _You_ should understand that better than any of us!”

It was a pinpoint strike, and Leonardo almost couldn’t conceal the jerk of his head at the words, but Don saw it and knew he struck the right nerve.

The answer to Leonardo’s question was Leonardo himself. He only needed to look as far as his relationship with his own father, the emperor who held Aeolus in his iron grip, for the explanations he needed. On some detached level Don understood that everything Leonardo was accusing him of in this moment was a reflection of the challenges he faced in his own life, and distantly there was a sympathy he felt that could connect them if given time and opportunity. But he wasn’t going to just lay down and let the prince of air fling abuse at him either.

Donatello wanted to end this conversation and retreat back to the relative safety of their campsite where he could at least hide in his tent for the rest of the night. Leonardo’s fingers were twitching like he wanted to reach for his katana again and Don didn’t feel safe. Quickly, he bent over to fill his arms with any pieces of wood he could reach, then he straightened and stared defiantly into Leonardo’s eyes.

“I don’t know what will happen when this is over. But what I do know is that I will do what is best for my kingdom and my people.”

“Even if that means going against your father?” Leonardo was rigid, staring hard as Don moved away without answering him, raising his voice again when it was obvious he wasn’t turning back. “Don’t walk away from me!”

Donatello didn’t stop. He plunged into the dark, using only the sound of the river and his sense of direction to guide him back the way they had come. He knew Leonardo was behind him, silent as he was; could practically feel his hot breath on the back of his neck, but he didn’t dare slow down. He didn’t want to be alone in this wood with the prince of air for even one second longer.

Thankfully the trip back to camp was faster then the way out had been. He broke past the tree line, almost stumbling in his haste, and moved directly toward the fire. At the blurred edge of his vision he could see Michelangelo nestled comfortably in the space between Raphael’s knees but their intimate position almost didn’t even register, he was so focused on getting away from his blue banded pursuer.

“Stop!” Leonardo said forcefully as he appeared out of the dark.

Don dropped the wood in his arms beside the fire, his head snapping around at Leonardo’s sharp command, anger heating his face.

“Do you even know what is being said about him?” The prince of air immediately continued. “We’ve been told that the king of Varuna is a maniacal tyrant who wants to assassinate us and claim the power of all four elements for himself. That he practices dark sorcery, sacrificing your citizens to bolster his power as he plans his revenge. We were all warned to keep on our guard before we came here, just in case he raised you to be his weapon and that he will wield you to gain back the seat he lost, using whatever means necessary to achieve his goals. So do not stand there and pretend to be ignorant of your father’s reasons for what he has done.”

Hearing so many outlandish accusations against his father had brought Don up straight, his back stiff, fists clenched. He looked from hard hazel eyes to intense amber to somber baby blues, seeing within them the reality of the rumors they had all been led to believe, the same as the whispers he’d heard in every inn and tavern he had passed through during his travels.

He forced out a grim laugh. “You talk about what you don’t understand.” Don said low, grinding out the last word through his teeth. “I’ll concede that certain choices made over the years have been questionable, but my father is a good man and I will not stand here and listen to you slander him!”

Something flashed in Leonardo’s eyes and Don braced himself. This entire thing had devolved so quickly his head was spinning. He had expected them to have questions, to demand answers, to be curious and guarded and, yes, even suspicious. But this open hostility was completely staggering and he wasn’t prepared for it. Did they truly believe him to be some evil henchmen sent by his father to carry out a diabolical plan? If that was true how would the four of them possibly make it through this first night, let alone through the entirety of the trials?

Leonardo looked like he was about to counter back when a quiet voice cut him off.

“Leo, come on, stop...” Michelangelo sounded exhausted, discontent radiating from him as he looked back and forth between them.

But Leonardo would not be deterred. “I’ll stop when I get an answer.”

“I. Don’t. Know.” Donatello ground out, leaning forward with each determined syllable. “And as disappointing as that may be for you, sometimes the truth is a lot more simple than absurd rumors that fester in taverns and back alleys with no basis in reality. You have been blinded by lies that become more and more ridiculous with each telling!”

His voice had steadily risen with each word until he was almost yelling and they were all staring at him now. Apparently he had vastly underestimated what their preconceived notions of him would be, and suddenly he felt like all of the oxygen was being sucked out of his lungs, to the point that his fingers and toes were starting to tingle. He jerked a little, taking an agitated step away from them.

“Look,” Don continued in a defeated voice. “I don’t need you to trust me, I don’t even need you to like me, but the fact is I can’t get through these trials without you and all I need is for you to help me get to where I need to be, so I can do what I came here to do.”

“What did you come here to do?” Leonardo said slowly.

“I came to find the truth.” Don insisted, ignoring the suspicion in that loaded question. “I don’t care about these trials, or about winning, or about any of this. But I also have questions that I need to have answered, and I will find those answers here, then I will go home and we can all get back to our lives!”

“You can play at being secretive all you want,” Leonardo said, stepping forward, the firelight casting shadows across his face. “But I think you’ve made one thing abundantly clear. Whatever your true motivations may be for being here, it’s obvious you will go to any length to protect your father. For our entire lives you have been invisible and we have spent every day looking over our shoulders for the knife in the dark. You are careful and calculating, I can hear it in the way your words twist around the truth, and I swear I will get that truth out of you if it’s the last thing I do.”

Don bristled at how accurate Leonardo was in his assessment. Donatello _was_ protecting his father, and he _was_ being very careful about it. He was wrong, however, in thinking it was due to some sinister motive. But after the heat of their exchange he wasn’t ready to give the blue banded turtle the satisfaction of knowing just how close to being right he was.

With a hard glare at the emperor’s son, his response was almost a whisper. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Yeah, that’s the problem.”

The soft statement hung in the air, all of them holding their breath. Raphael watched Leonardo with an unwavering look through narrowed eyes. Michelangelo sat on the ground, leaning against Raphael’s legs with his face in his hands.

Donatello fought to swallow the lump of emotion that swelled in his throat. None of this had gone the way he had hoped it would and now he wasn’t sure if there was any way to save it. He closed his eyes and raised his hands in surrender.

“Alright... I need a break.”

Not waiting for a response he turned and fled the firelight, barely hearing Michelangelo’s soft voice call after him, or the heated question that faded in his ears as he made straight for the river. “ _Leo... what did you do...?_ ”

~*~*~*~


End file.
